


Escape From Atlanta

by Lovedmoviesb



Series: Richonne AUs [4]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pandemic - Freeform, Richonne - Freeform, quarantine writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23449873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovedmoviesb/pseuds/Lovedmoviesb
Summary: Rick Grimes and Michonne Hawthorne reluctantly part, leaving Rick in Atlanta, and Michonne starting a new life in Washington DC. When the world goes mad, what lengths will they go to to get back to one another?Richonne reimagining of TWD.
Relationships: Rick Grimes/Michonne
Series: Richonne AUs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1426960
Comments: 23
Kudos: 29





	1. Separation

The heat was sweltering, the asphalt below warm enough to burn through the bottom of Michonne’s sandals. She lifted her feet, pacing restlessly, ignoring the drip of sweat at it gathered on her forehead and neck. The thin cotton of her sundress provided little in relief from the unrelenting sun, or the way her ex’s eyes kept darting to her when he thought she wasn’t looking. 

“Well, that’s it,” Rick announced unceremoniously, looking at the boxes piled into the backseat of her SUV. His curly hair was saturated, clinging to his forehead. Packing her car had proven to be much more daunting of a task than either of them could have anticipated. 

“Guess so,” she swallowed. It was all she could do not to stare. Rick’s white t-shirt was nearly see-through across his chest. He’d gotten to work the moment she’d stopped her engine in his driveway. It had hurt to see her belongings piled neatly by the door. It hurt considerably more to watch him meticulously arrange them into her vehicle. 

“You got your route all mapped out?” Rick asked, rocking back on his heels. He was wearing his boots, the same beat-to-hell pair she’d sought to replace half a dozen times in the last year. He kept his eyes on them as he spoke, dragging his toes through the loosened black pebbles littering the concrete. 

“Yeah,” Michonne held in a sigh, “Google, you know?”

“Ah right,” he nodded. “You love your phone.”

Attached though she might have been to the little handheld device, her cellphone was the furthest thing from her mind. 

“You’ve got drinks for the road?” Rick continued his steady line of questioning, a skill he’d picked up at work and employed often. “It’s hot out here, and DC is bound to be even hotter.”

“Yeah,” she assured him. “There’s a sports drink in there, and that cooler you got me when we went camping.” Michonne had never been much of one for camping, but a weekend in the woods with Rick had proven to be her favorite kind of vacation. Long uninterrupted hours with him at her side, his arm over her shoulders, holding her close were enough to change her mind on the great outdoors.

She doubted she’d do much camping in DC.

“Good,” Rick inhaled, eyes distant. “Don’t let me keep you,” he said solemnly.

Michonne paused to look at him, fiddling with the hem of her skirt in an attempt to stem the urge to touch him. Rick’s blue eyes flickered upward to her at last. What she saw reflected there threatened to send her sobbing down the street. 

“Rick.” His name came out on a wobble. “Please can we…”

She broke off. Rick took a step close to her but paused at once, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“What Michonne?” his tone was gentle, the question hard. “What is it you need?”

_ I need you to come with me. _ The words were right on the tip of her tongue. Tears came instead. Michonne covered her face, ashamed, even as salt water streamed down her cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” she sputtered, trembling. “I--”

Rick never let her finish her sentence. He took her by the arm, his calloused fingers cutting a familiar path down her skin as he drew her away from the driveway, and back to the porch. 

“C’mon,” his thick accent rumbled against her, heartbreaking and comforting all at once. “We can have a drink. Talk about it.”

They  _ had _ talked about it, and at length. For two months the subject sat between them, pushing them apart like an ever-growing chasm. On one end, there was DC, the promise of a job, a future. On the other, there was Atlanta and Rick. A year was too short of a time to compromise such an opportunity, Michonne had reasoned. Hell, Rick had agreed. He’d just made Sergeant, and he had an obligation to his squad. So they decided to stay friends and she had packed up, ready for the next adventure in life. 

Rick’s house was supposed to be her last stop in Atlanta. 

“I’m sorry,” Michonne repeated, her mind a jumble. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” he soothed, opening his front door. The cooler was a welcome reprieve from the heat. He brought her inside, shutting the door behind her. The scents of his house, comfortable and clean, calmed her and sent her stomach into knots at once.

“Sit down,” he instructed, guiding her to the couch. “I’ll grab you a drink.”

“You don’t have to,” she protested weakly.

He only smiled, a slight, wry twist of his lips. “I’ll be right back,” he promised. 

He left her shaking in the living room, staring around at the house she now realized had begun to feel like home. Her plants, now stacked in the back seat of her car, had once graced the end tables here. She’d left books, clothing, pieces of her, of her life, of  _ their _ relationship. They were all neatly gathered and removed by Rick. She chanced a glance at his mantle, gasping at the sight. Their picture was still there, the one from the county fair, their first date. She’d framed it for their anniversary. Rick had kept it. 

Michonne was sobbing in earnest by the time he returned, two sweating glasses of sweet tea in either hand. 

“Michonne,” he rushed for her, setting the drinks down on the coffee table. “Darling, don’t cry.”

The pet name, old-fashioned and unbearably sweet, made her weep all the harder. Rick’s arms closed in around her, caging her in. She leaned in, disregarding the heat, disregarding her plan, disregarding the fact that they no longer belonged to one another. 

“This wasn’t supposed to be this hard,” she sniffled into his shoulder. 

Rick stroked her back, tangling his hand in the long locs of her hair. “I know,” he whispered, pressing his mouth to her forehead. “You--we decided though, Michonne. You can’t miss out on this opportunity.”

“ _ Come _ ,” she begged flat out, dignity forgone. “Rick, please, come with me.”

He was silent for a beat, holding her tighter. Then, “I can’t, darling. Not now.”

“I can wait,” Michonne heard herself saying, heard the argument she’d pushed down for weeks bubbling out of her mouth. “I can come home once a month, and we can try and then when you’re ready--”

Rick tilted her head up, cupping her chin in his palm. “You don’t have to do that,” he told her, voice low. 

“I want to, Rick,” she assured him. “I don’t want— the job doesn’t matter as much as you do.”

His eyes searched her face, perhaps looking for hesitation, or the tell-tell signs of a lie. Michonne held his gaze, reaching back for him. She smoothed her palms down his jaw, cording her fingers through the stubble that was quickly becoming a full-blown beard. He caught her hand, holding it against his face as he turned his head to kiss her palm. 

“Michonne, that ain’t as easy as you’re making it out to be,” he murmured.

“I never said it would be easy,” she argued. 

Rick drew her closer until their legs were pressed flush to one another. “You’re going to get to DC, ‘Chonne, and you’re gonna need to focus on your new life there. You can’t leave part of yourself here in Atlanta.”

She remained silent, feeling something like a pit burning a hole down from her heart straight through her body. 

Rick continued, voice tight. “It’s gonna be a year, probably two before I can think about transferring. That’s not fair to you, darling.”

She sniffled. Rick pulled her closer still. 

“I don’t want to let you go,” he was on the verge of crying now. “But you can’t wait for me, Michonne. That ain’t fair.”

He buried his head in her shoulder, shaking. Michonne’s arms came around him, her fingers curling into the cotton of his t-shirt. Rick drew her into his lap, his body searing hot against her own. 

In a second, it became clear that they were not close enough. Something between them snapped. Michonne coaxed Rick’s shirt over his head at the same time that his hands clambered at the hem of her dress. They fell over into the cushions, an ungraceful pile of limbs and grasping hands. Michonne fumbled with the thick leather belt on Rick’s jeans, pushing it and his pants down inch by inch. Her dress ended up in a loop around her neck. Rick tugged it free, replacing the soft fabric with his lips. Michonne gasped, hooking her arms around his neck. 

He lifted her, sitting up, balancing her in his lap again. Michonne straddled him, pressing herself down against him, desperate. Calloused fingers yanked at her thin cotton panties, urging them to the side. She cried out, tears running down her face when Rick entered her. 

“You ok?” he gasped against her ear, pausing for a breath. 

She wasn’t, not remotely, but she didn’t want him to stop. Michonne leaned into his touch, digging her fingers into his shoulders. He tilted his head up, drawing her down, sealing his lips against hers as she screamed outright. 

Their skin grew slick as heat continued to flare in the scant place between them. Michonne’s mind ran blank, the whole of her consumed with feeling. The tight stretch of him, the rough grasp of his hands, the softness of his kisses, his desperate grunts and gasps-- it was enough to send her spiraling. 

“God, Michonne,” he cupped her face between his palms. “I love you so much.”

She burst into tears, falling forward, shaking in his arms. Rick thrust harder into her, pushing them both over the edge. They trembled against one another, catching their breath, reality rushing back in. 

“I love you too,” she whispered, sealing this promise with a kiss. 

Rick held her afterwards in the shower, his chest pressed against her back, one hand around her hips, the other tugging gently at her locs. Michonne leaned into him, committing it all to memory. Their hair was still wet when he walked her back outside, dressed again. She unlocked her car, watching as Rick opened the door. 

“Be safe,” he said quietly, reaching for her hand. “And if you need anything at all--”

“I’ll call you,” she nodded, stepping closer to him. 

They met in the middle, kissing sweetly, clutching at one another. Rick pulled back first, taking a step away from her, watching as she climbed into the car. Michonne waved, starting the ignition, ignoring the ache in her entire body, ignoring Rick crying openly in his driveway. 

Silently, she steered up the road, leaving Atlanta in her rearview mirror. 

-l-l-l-l-

His bed still smelled like her, even after being laundered. 

It was a fact that pained Rick as much as he looked forward to the scent. His sheets seemed to be soaked in it: coconut oil and vanilla, the same fragrance of her hair. It offered some comfort when he laid down to sleep on the right side of the mattress, still unable to to commit to the middle of the bed, even weeks later. 

A month had gone by before he could drag himself out of the house for anything but work. At least here at home, there were traces of her-- her favorite wine in his cabinet, that oat milk she loved (but Rick couldn’t stand) still sitting in his refrigerator. He kept her picture on the mantle, their picture, though he did his best not to look at it. She would be better in DC, working her dream job instead of stuck at the one that was killing her. He was happy for her, truly. But Atlanta was darker in her absence. 

Rick woke up with a start in the darkness of the morning, blinking into awareness slowly. He groped blindly beside him, hand clenching at nothing but cool sheets. The sensation shocked him back to consciousness. Somewhere on his nightstand, his phone was buzzing loudly. Rick sat up blearily, reaching for it. 

“Sergeant Grimes,” the title was new but it came easily. 

“Sarge, hate to wake you, but there’s some strange shit going on.”

“What is it?” Rick asked. He ran his hand down his stubbled face, attempting to focus. 

“I ain’t seen anything like this, not in ten years on the force.”

“Homicide?”

“It’s… something,” the sheriff stuttered. “I think you better get down here.”

“I’ll pick up my squad car and head out,” Rick agreed, stepping out of bed. 

The sun was just making its way over the horizon when Rick arrived at the address his sheriff had listed. It was warm already, the humidity causing his uniform to cling to his skin. Rick tugged at it, slipping his hat on as he climbed out of his squad car. 

“What’s this all about?” Rick picked carefully through the muddy grass, waving at a few members of his squad. They were clustered near the fence, staring in at something just beyond. They turned as one towards him, faces grave in the golden glow of sunrise. 

“Sarge,” one spoke up, pointing. “You ever see any shit like this?”

Bracing himself, Rick walked to the fence to look. 

“Oh fuck,” he breathed to himself, stomach churning.

The field beyond was pure carnage, a grotesque mixture of crimson clotted in the grass and dirt beneath. It looked like a battlefield, long gashes of mud smeared with blood, the ground pockmarked. Dozens of corpses were spread out, the remains of horses and cattle. A breeze kicked up, carrying the smell of death with it. Rick recoiled.

“What happened?” he asked the nearest of the sheriffs. 

She shrugged. “Delivery guy came by this morning. Says he drops off supplies once a week. Nearly fell over. Had to send him to the hospital up the road for shock.”

“And the owners?” Rick looked around, off in the distance towards a house. 

“We were waiting on you,” she reported. 

“All right,” Rick calculated, wetting his lips. “Three of you come with me,” he pointed. “The rest of you, stay here. Call this in, get the lab out here. And animal control.”

  
You think another animal did this?” a sheriff asked. 

Rick grimaced. “I hope so.”

He led the way, creeping along the fence to the house. They paused at the door. 

“Be ready,” Rick instructed over his shoulder. His right hand strayed to the Colt Python in a holster at his waist as his left hand knocked sharply on the door. “Sheriff’s department,” he announced himself loudly.

There was no answer. He knocked again, but this time, the door swung open a crack.

“Hello?” Rick called in, listening to the echo of his own voice. In the distance, there was an answering sound, almost like a deep murmur. 

“Shit, Sarge,” someone groaned behind him. “Sounds like someone’s hurt.”

“Do you need help?” Rick called in, nudging the door wider open. 

The moan sounded, louder this time. 

“All right,” Rick titled his hat back, reaching for his radio. “We’ve got signs of a break in, here,” he reported. “Possible wounded civilian. We’re going in.” He clicked it off when dispatch muttered a garbled affirmative. “Weapons out,” Rick cautioned. 

They entered together, filthy boots leaving tracks on the hardwood floor beneath. Rick moved quickly, following the sound through the foyer and past the kitchen. The back door was wide open, the sliding glass smeared with streaks of blood. Gun drawn, Rick stepped forward, hugging the wall to look out. 

Someone was outside, crouching in the large yard. His bathrobe, dirtied and stained, hung open in the breeze, slipping off one thin shoulder. The sounds of crunching could be heard even from the distance. Rick realized in horror that the person appeared to be eating something.

“Step away and put your hands up!” he bellowed, aiming. 

The perpetrator paused for a moment, shuffling as though in pain. The moaning sounds escalated as he turned, staring with lifeless eyes at the sheriffs. 

“Oh fuck,” someone behind Rick cried out. 

“Hands on your head!” Rick instructed again, moving cautiously outside. 

The man gave a roar like some kind of an animal, staggering to his feet. His meal came into sight at once. The air got knocked from Rick’s lungs. 

People. He’d been eating people. The bodies were sprawled in front of him, mutilated and twisted, wearing pajamas like their attacker.

“Shit,” Rick muttered, calculating. The man was on the move, face a crimson ruin, gnashing his teeth. “Stop or we’ll shoot!” Rick gave it one last-ditch effort, thumbing the hammer. 

The first bullet struck him in the leg, slowing him for less than a moment. Rick fired twice more, going so far as to aim for the knees. The man took the impact and kept coming, advancing on the shattered remains of his legs. 

“What the fuck?” a rookie behind Rick shouted, raising his gun to fire as well. 

From the side of the yard, the rattling moan got louder still. Rick saw movement out of the corner of his eye. More blood smeared bodies were ambling towards them, all dressed in tattered pajamas, one missing an arm, another with a hole in their abdomen. 

“What do we do?” someone yelled. 

Rick made his decision quickly. A headshot dropped the first man at last, leaving his body smoldering in the grass. Rick turned as the others closed it. 

“Take them out,” Rick instructed. Nothing about the situation made sense, but he’d be damned if these dead walkers made it to his squad.

There was a barrage of bullets, the pops ringing as they opened fire, spraying the group. They staggered and jerked, some falling, but still, they kept coming. 

“The head!” Rick shouted, but his instructions fell on deaf ears. Panic began to set in like a wave as the sheriffs began to realize the gravity of the situation. One of those enemies was a woman, another appeared to be a teenager. The sight was enough to make Rick sick. 

“The head!” he yelled again, but it was too late. The nearest of them fell on Rick’s rookie, biting down with the force of a wild animal. 

“Help!” the sheriff let out a pitiable cry. Rick spun on his heel, shooting the body at point blank range. It fell, mouth full of gore, leaving a 6-inch gash in the rookie. 

The world became a blur of movement. Rick was vaguely aware of him speaking into his radio, of throwing the rookie in the passenger seat of his squad car as they tore off towards the hospital. Reports were flooding in from dispatch, homicides piling up by the minute. Rick listened, watching as his rookie sweated and bled, teeth clenched. It wasn’t until he was in the hospital, blood-splattered and bewildered that Rick paused enough to think. 

“Hundreds of cases,” the dispatcher reported through the radio. “Never seen anything like it. We can’t keep up.”

Rick nodded absently, watching as the ER rushed around him, shuttling in people by the dozens. 

“Is it something in the water? Some kind of sickness?” he asked. 

He got only radio silence in response. A group of doctors ran past him, ushering in a group of terrified teenagers, all clutching wounds and crying. 

“Sergeant,” someone called for him sharply. Rick spun dizzily, shuffling forward. 

“How’s my--”

“He didn’t make it,” the doctor delivered the news curtly. “I wish I had more time to tell you this nicely, but I’ve got 50 more people dying in there. You need to notify next of kin. I need you to come sign the papers.”

“What’s going on?” Rick grabbed his arm. “Someone bit him. Someone who was eating people--”

“Do I look like I know?” the doctor yanked his arm back. “People are dying all over the place. Coming in with bites and fevers…” the doctor shook his head. “Some kind of pandemic.”

“Is it contagious?” Rick demanded. 

“It’s spreading for sure,” the doctor said, distracted already. “Shouldn’t you be out there, doing your job? I need to do mine.”

He pushed Rick roughly in the direction of the room, already sprinting off, yelling instructions at nurses as he went. 

Rick walked in, mind a jumble. It looked like a triage in here. He picked his way around the dead and dying, heading for the ashen body of his rookie. Someone shoved a pen in his hand, and Rick scratched out his signature, allowing himself to be pushed back out and into the waiting room. He collapsed into a plastic chair, head spinning.

The phone in Rick’s hand burned into his palm. He ought to call the rookie’s family, ought to call his precinct, ought to head back out into the fray. Instead, he dialed a familiar number, pressing the receiver to his ear. 

After four rings, it clicked to voicemail. “Hi! You’ve reached the phone of Michonne Hawthorne. I’m sorry to miss your call. If you leave your name and number…”

“Michonne,” Rick clipped out, surprised at how hoarse he sounded. “Darling, I don’t know where you are, but I need you to get inside, right now, you hear me? Don’t wait. Go straight home, lock yourself in. I’ll explain, but I need you to call me back. Ok, Chonne? Call me back when you’re safe inside.”

He paused, eyes widening as someone began to scream in earnest down the hall. 

“I have to go,” he said. “I love you, Michonne. Be safe.”

He stood out of his plastic chair, hand reaching for his gun again as the screams escalated, the sounds of blind panic cresting like a wave. Rick heard the moaning again, the same from the farm this morning. 

“Shit,” he cursed as the swinging doors burst open, admitting a hoard of the dead. People began to run, knocking over one another in their haste to get away. His phone clattered to the ground. 

Rick managed to take out five in quick succession, freezing for a moment when he noticed his rookie among them. His pale young face was unseeing, all traces of humor wiped clean. He was another monster with the rest of them. 

The dead broke over the crowd, yanking people down and digging in. In moments, the tile floor of the hospital was flooded red with blood. Rick ran through the crowd, pushing open the doors to the parking lot, shepherding people outside. 

“Let’s go!” he yelled, intending to bar the doors behind him. 

The chaos was nearly as bad in the streets as cars honked and swerved, each trying to flee with no thought for others. Their feet beat a path forward crunching everything below. Rick turned to run with the rest of them, pushing women and children forward, yelling. 

In the lobby of the hospital ER, his abandoned cell phone’s cracked screen lit up with a picture of Michonne, her call going unanswered. 

  
  



	2. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world goes mad, leaving Rick and Michonne scrambling to understand.

“ _ Darling, I don’t know where you are, but I need you to get inside, right now, you hear me? Don’t wait. Go straight home, lock yourself in. I’ll explain, but I need you to call me back. Ok, Chonne? Call me back when you’re safe inside _ .”

Michonne hurried down the halls, heels clicking on the marble floors beneath her. The Capitol was abuzz, with assistants running to and fro, ducking out of the offices of senators and representatives alike. Michonne dodged them, rushing on shaky legs. 

“Andrea!” she exclaimed, reaching to grab her coworker around the wrist. 

The blonde spun, sighing in relief, pushing her hair hastily back into its sloppy updo. “Thank God,” she pulled Michonne aside, looking around. “Do you have any idea what’s going on? The memo was so vague. I keep seeing bits of the news. Reporters are calling non stop...It’s a nightmare.”

“I need you to listen to this,” Michonne yanked the headphones from her ears, handing one to Andrea. 

“Michonne, what--”

“Just listen,” she instructed firmly, thumbing at the screen of her phone to rewind the message. 

Andrea’s eyes widened as Rick’s voice repeated the frantic instruction. When the screaming began, she slapped a pale hand over her mouth in horror. 

“Michonne,” she began sharply. “Who is this? Who sent you this?”

Michonne looked around, ushering them forward again. “He’s my…” she shook her head, focusing on what was important. “He’s a sheriff in Atlanta.”

“This is happening in Atlanta?” Andrea huffed. “They’re keeping something from us.”

“They always are,” Michonne nodded. “We need to leave.” She tucked her phone back into the pocket of her blazer, adjusting her pencil skirt back down her legs. 

“What?” Andrea scoffed. “There’s so much work that needs to happen--”

“Nothing we can’t do from home,” Michonne turned into their shared office, scrambling to unplug her laptop. She shoved it and the charger into her bag, hefting it onto her shoulder. 

“You could lose your job over this,” Andrea warned. “You know the waitlist of applicants--”

“People are dying, Andrea,” Michonne hissed. “Rick isn’t the kind of person who would leave a message like that for shits and giggles. Now I can’t get a hold of him. What do you think is going on out there?”

The possibilities had haunted her all day, even before the message. All she knew was there was something happening, some plague or disease, and people were dying by the hundreds. Fear ate away like acid in the base of her stomach. 

“I don’t know,” doubt flickered over Andrea’s face. “But we’d be safest here, right? They’re not going to let all of Congress get annihilated.” 

Michonne was on her way for the door already, fishing the keys out of her purse. “Let’s not stick around to find out,” she said. 

Andrea hesitated. “Michonne, I can’t leave.”

“You can,” Michonne protested. “The door is right there.” No one would stop them, not in this chaos. She would get home, lock the door, call Rick. He would be ok, he had to be. 

“I’ve waited years for this job,” Andrea swallowed. “I think...I’ll stay. I’ll text you updates.”

Michonne nodded, still walking. “Be safe,” she offered as parting words. She liked Andrea enough to try to talk sense to her, but Rick was another matter entirely. 

“You too,” Andrea said.

Michonne shut the door behind her, hurrying out of the offices and into the parking lot. Her SUV seemed miles away, but she made it, fearfully starting the engine. She steered the vehicle, aiming for her home across the bridge in Arlington.

Heart pounding at the empty streets and abandoned monuments, Michonne reached for her phone again, calling Rick’s number. It rang, echoing in the confined space before automating to a generic message parroting Rick’s phone number. 

“Rick,” she swallowed, trying to calm herself. “I got your message. I...I’m headed home. It’s quiet here, but something is going on. Please call me back. Who was screaming? Was it--” Michonne sniffled. “I love you too. Please be safe. Don’t be a hero, ok? Get somewhere secure. We can meet--”

Behind her car, a siren sounded. Michonne cursed, hanging up, dropping the phone onto the passenger seat. She hastily threw her purse over it before centering her hands on the steering wheel, feeling nauseous. 

“Ma’am,” the cop rapped on her window. 

Michonne rolled it down slowly. “Officer,” she began. 

“You got any idea what’s going on?” he asked her, leaning in. He braced one thick, swarthy arm on the roof of her car, taking her in over his sunglasses. 

“No,” she answered. “I got a call from a family member and--”

“You need to get home,” he interrupted her. “They put out an alert. No one but essential personnel.”

“Ok,” she nodded, eager to do just that. “I’m going straight home. I--”

The sentence died in her throat when she noticed a sudden crowd growing off in the distance. For one absurd moment, she wondered whether a marathon was in progress. There seemed to be hundreds, some dressed in suits for work, some like tourists, all ambling forward. 

The cop turned, sensing her gaze. “Oh, what the hell?” he cursed. 

“Oh fuck,” Michonne breathed out at the same time, realization settling in. 

Dead. The whole lot of them looked dead, a bloodied, filthy mess. Some were missing parts, some had crimson running down their limbs, some looked as though they’d been eating raw meat with their bare hands. Michonne’s pulse jumped at once. She looked at the officer. 

“You need to run!” she yelled, considering taking him with her. 

“Get out of here!” he seemed to reach the same conclusion, smacking her car to wave her away. He sprinted to his own vehicle, reaching in for the radio as he opened the door. 

They hit in a wave, faster than she could have ever anticipated. From the crowd, there came a kind of melancholy hum, a chorus of mindless moans. It chilled her to her core.

“Watch out!” she screamed, hand on the door. She flung it open, fumbling with her seatbelt. 

The cop did not respond. Instead he opened fire, shooting wildly into the fray. A few fell, but most kept coming. Michonne finally untangled herself, hurtling out of the SUV to help. Before her, the police officer began to scream as the first of the hoard reached him, sinking their teeth in like something possessed. The blood sprayed, staining her skirt. 

Michonne yelped in surprise when something grabbed her from behind. 

“You can’t help him!” an unfamiliar voice yelled. “You have to run.”

She turned, nearly teetering off her heels. Unceremoniously, Michonne kicked herself free from the shoes, taking in the man pulling her backwards. 

“Who--” she began. 

He shook his head. “No time!” he yelled. His eyes were on the crowd, still moving towards them. 

Michonne took his advice, bolting, the stranger at her side. She opened the car door again, climbing in, unlocking the backdoor by instinct. Her accomplice dove in head first, dragging the door shut with a loud bang. 

The dead hit the side of the car like a fist, gnawing at them. Michonne rolled the window up, trying to keep her calm as she threw the car in gear. 

“What are they?” she demanded of her passenger. 

“No idea,” he gasped, crouching down in the seats, bracing himself while Michonne hit the gas pedal. It was gritty beneath her bare foot. 

“Are they alive?” she asked again, gaining speed.

One collided with the front of her car, half of its body exploding in a gruesome shower. He kept going, limping along without an arm and half a ribcage, still biting. 

“Do they look alive?” the man in the back challenged, eyes wide. 

Michonne swung the wheel, plowing straight through the middle. Her windshield ran red. The car lurched over the bodies, squelching and crunching as it went. 

“Oh God,” Michonne lamented, flooring the gas. 

It wasn’t until the crowd was long gone in the distance that she chanced a glance at the man in the backseat. His appearance startled her. Even in the heat, he wore a forest green beanie that had seen better days. It was pulled snug over his long dark hair. Most of his face was obscured by a thick chestnut colored beard, but his eyes, bright and intelligent, peered out at her. 

“Thanks for saving me,” he spoke before she had a chance to ask the obvious, extending a hand into the front seat. “I’m Jesus.”

Michonne shook her head, refusing to take it. “ _ Jesus _ ,” she snorted, nearly hysterical. “I guess if dead people are walking around, why not Jesus?” she jabbed at her car, spraying wiper fluid across the windshield. It streaked, mixing with the gore. She let out a curse. 

“Real name’s Paul,” the man in the backseat continued. “And you’re…”

“Michonne,” she glanced at him in the rearview mirror. 

“Pretty name,” he nodded. He paused, watching the windshield wipers struggle to clear a view. “I get if you’re uncomfortable with me here. You can let me out.”

The suggestion hung in the air for a moment before Michonne dismissed it. 

“I don’t want to be alone right now,” she admitted, hands trembling. “And if you die…”

Jesus smiled, his whole face brightening. “I appreciate that.”

“Well, you might be the real Jesus,” the joke escaped her lips on a shaky laugh. “And I think I could use you. Besides, you saved me first.”

His smile widened. “Where you coming from, Michonne?”

“The Capitol,” she said, steering onto the roads. 

“Don’t take that way,” Jesus piped up. “It’s bumper to bumper.”

“How else do you get across the bridge?” she asked. 

“Go the long way,” he rattled off instructions in a calm voice, watching her. “Are you new here?” he asked. 

“Is it obvious?” Michonne huffed, eyes on the street. Every movement in the distance seemed to herald their doom. 

Jesus shrugged. “I grew up here, so I guess it is to me. Where are you from?”

“Atlanta,” the word stung. 

“You have people there?” Jesus’ tone softened. 

“Just one,” she sighed. “Can you call him for me?” She reached for the phone, tossing it into the backseat. 

“Rick?” Jesus obediently picked the phone up, holding it to his ear. In a few seconds he shook his head. “Voicemail.”

Michonne blinked back tears. “Thanks,” she muttered, trying to stay focused. 

“He’s probably just busy,” Jesus tried. “I’m sure he’ll call back.”

“He called already,” Michonne reported. “Told me to get somewhere safe.”

“Smart man,” Jesus mused. 

“He is,” Michonne swallowed the knot in her throat. 

More of the dead meandered out on the streets, but they whipped past them, heading into Virginia and Michonne’s home. She steered into her garage, only leaving the car when it was shut behind her and her house alarm was armed. 

“Nice place,” Jesus observed, climbing out after her. “You sure you want me to stick around?”

“Come on in,” Michonne opened her door. The thought of being alone was terrifying. “And it is nice. Haven’t gotten much of a chance to decorate though.”

The walls were mostly bare, and boxes were still stacked unceremoniously against them. Michonne navigated around, gesturing for Jesus to sit on the couch. 

“What do you do? For work, I mean,” she clarified, rushing for the kitchen. She filled two tall glasses with water. 

Jesus chuckled. “I’m not homeless,” he said knowingly. “But I do work with people without homes. I was trying to get people off the street, get them safe. Then that...herd,” he searched for a word to describe it. “I was trying to outrun them when I bumped into you.”

Michonne nodded, sitting beside him. “Do you think people are going to be safe in the city?” she asked. 

Jesus looked down at his hands, picking at his short, neat nails. “I hope so,” he sucked at his teeth. 

Michonne reached for the remote, flicking on the tv. A silence spread between her guest and herself as channel after channel went by. The carnage was unbelievable. DC, NY, LA…

“Atlanta,” Michonne gasped. She dropped the remote from her hand as images of her old home filled the screen. Atlanta was a warzone, a smoldering remnant of what she’d left behind. 

Jesus offered soothing words, but they fell on deaf ears. Michonne called Rick’s number again. As it went to voicemail, the tears broke free. She collapsed into the cushions, shaking as Atlanta burned on screen. 

“He might be ok,” Jesus said, patting her on the knee. 

Michonne only sobbed, covering her face, her heart broken entirely. 

-l-l-l-l-

Rick ran, lungs burning, muscles screaming. The world around him was on fire, a cacophony of sound. The sirens had stopped long ago, as had the familiar buzz of his radio. He dropped it, same as his phone in the chaos. The crowds around him still surged like a hive of bees. He hadn’t seen anything living in hours. 

Rick paused, darting into an alleyway to catch his breath. His uniform was stained in blood, though he could not discern who it belonged to. There was a ringing in his ears, threatening to drive him to his knees. He braced himself against the wall, shaking. His stomach gave a violent lurch and Rick doubled over, vomiting. The act hurt, throwing into sharp relief the acute pain rushing through his veins. He took a moment to inspect himself, noting the gash running through his pants and into his leg. He poked gingerly at it, wincing. His leg was going stiff and cold, throbbing. Rick’s fingers wandered, closing in on the jagged piece of glass that had lodged itself there. He wiggled it experimentally, then yanked it free.

He swallowed his scream, ripping at his uniform to make a bandage, tying it around his thigh outside of his pants. He sat up with effort, looking around. Everywhere there was horror and destruction, mutilated corpses climbing to their feet. He’d run out of ammo shortly after the hospital. It had been a stampede of panic, of people falling and flailing, shoving and scratching. They had been slaughtered by the dozen, either under foot or at the hands of the dead. Rick wondered if he would ever stop hearing the screams. 

A rattling moan brought his attention to the end of the road. A group of walkers were swarming, heading for him. Rick attempted to move, but his body simply wouldn’t cooperate. Dizzily, he staggered, falling to the ground. He hit the asphalt in an undignified pile, closing his eyes. He could hear them, getting ever closer. 

He wondered if he might die before they reached him, if this was the end of the line. The idea didn’t scare him the way that it should. It might be nice to have a reprieve from the pain. There might be something beyond, something pleasant. Michonne certainly believed so. 

Michonne. Her image filled his mind. A memory of their first meeting came back with it, as clear as it had been in the moment it happened. 

_ “Can I help you with something?” _

_ Her voice snapped Rick out of a momentary trance. His skin ran bright red at once as he realized she’d caught him staring.  _

_ “Sorry,” he stammered, face heated. He hadn’t meant to gawk at the defense attorney in the form-fitting dress. He hadn’t seen her around the courthouse before. He would have remembered her umber skin, her long curled locs, the way her hips moved as she strutted around in those heels.  _

_ “Aren’t you a sheriff?” she asked, looking more amused than anything else. “I think I’ve seen you before. In uniform though,” she clarified.  _

_ “You have?” The thought shocked him.  _

_ “You were chewing someone out,” she smirked. “You got pretty heated.” _

_ Rick recalled exactly what she’d been talking about. One of his squad had been making a complete ass of themselves in court, sassing the judge. Rick had pulled him outside and laid into him.  _

_ “You were there for that?” his face burned brighter still.  _

_ She smiled. “I’m not surprised you didn’t see me.” The woman shrugged. “A little disappointed though.” _

_ “Why’s that?” he asked, taking a step closer to her.  _

_ “You’re pretty handsome all fired up, Sheriff…” _

_ “Rick,” he extended a hand, grinning right back at her.  _

_ “Rick,” she repeated, rolling the syllable around in her mouth.  _

_ Rick found his eyes drawn to her lips. He wet his own. “You’re...” he prompted. _

_ “Michonne,” she slid her hand smoothly against his, holding tightly for a moment.  _

_ “Michonne,” he liked the sound of it. “I promise I’m not always angry,” he told her.  _

_ “I hope not,” she dropped her hand to her side, dark eyes sparkling.  _

_ “I can prove it to you,” he said, filled with reckless courage. “Can I take you for a drink?” _

_ “As long as there’s food,” she accepted. “I’m starving.” _

_ “Dinner then,” Rick amended, tilting his head at her.  _

_ Her smile widened. Michonne bent to pick up her work bag, stepping to his side. “Do you want to drive, or should I?” she asked.  _

_ Rick rattled the keys in his pocket, hardly believing his luck. “If you don’t mind riding shotgun, I’ll drive. Then you can still have your drink.” He reached for her bag, slinging the heavy pack over his shoulder. _

_ “Well aren’t you chivalrous,” Michonne laughed.  _

_ “Comes with the job. Protect and serve.” He liked her laugh immensely.  _

_ Michonne looked him up and down, smiling to herself. “I hope so,” she said.  _

Rick’s eyes snapped open. He braced himself, palms pressed in the damp asphalt beneath him. It was raining now, fat droplets pelting down from the sky. Rick realized with a start that the dead were just feet away. He pushed up, gaining his footing, and ran again. 

The fifth car he tried was unlocked. Rick dove inside, snapping the door shut. He hunkered down, watching as the rain fell and the dead scratched at the metal sides. 

Michonne. The thought of her would not leave him. Had she gotten inside? Was DC under siege as well?

He grappled for the keys, twisting them round in the ignition. The cheap metal keychain banged against his bruised knuckles. Rick scarcely felt it, focusing on the faint beginnings of a plan forming in his mind. The engine roared to life, and Rick let out a relieved sigh, gripping the wheel with bloodied hands. Navigating the streets was tantamount to picking his way through a minefield. Still, he persisted. 

The nearest police station was surrounded, teeming with the dead. Rick took a deep breath, calculating. He took the distance from the car to the door at a flat sprint, prying it open and yanking it closed behind him. Dozens more were inside. They zeroed in on him at once.

Rick dodged, diving for a radio on the counter. It was warm in his hand as he went, huffing, his feet sliding on the slick tile. He managed to reach a storage closet, kicking a hole into the face of a pursuer. The dead fell backwards, allowing Rick to draw his bloodied foot in, shutting himself into the darkness. Outside, the dead wailed and moaned, clawing as they gathered. 

Rick shut his eyes, cursing himself. Panting, he thumbed at the radio, listening as it hummed to life. 

“This is Sergeant Rick Grimes,” he spoke, desperate. “Is anyone there? Can anyone hear me?”

Silence was his answer. 

“This is Sergeant Rick Grimes,” he tried again. “Is anyone out there?”

There was a crackle, and then, “There’s plenty of us out here, cowboy. But no one dumb enough to pull what you pulled.”

Rick’s heart hammered. “Who are you?” he asked, clutching the radio. 

“Plenty of time to answer that,” the voice told him, exasperated. “But first what do you say we get you outta there?”

“Yeah,” Rick gasped, watching the door in front of him shake. “Let’s do that.”


	3. Survival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Michonne work with their new allies, and take a step closer to one another.

The door to the Atlanta PD’s supply closet jumped on its hinges, the cheap wood creaking. Rick backed up until his head hit a low shelf, wincing as his hand clenched around the radio. His unknown ally must have heard it. The voice piped up again, rife with concern. 

“How hurt are you?” the stranger asked. 

Rick braced his foot flat to the door, holding it shut against the force of the dead outside of it. 

“I’ll be fine,” he answered through gritted teeth. Whatever was ahead was bound to be better than getting eaten in a darkened storage space. 

“Are you sure?” the stranger pressed. “Because if you can’t run--”

“I’ll be fine,” Rick reiterated, inhaling sharply. 

“All right, all right,” there was a scuffle on the other end. “Ok, so when you hear it, get ready, ok?”

“Hear what?” Rick rose to a crouch, pressing against the door with a flattened palm. 

As though in answer, a car alarm began to blare outside. Shortly after came the din of shattered glass, and another alarm joined the chorus. The symphony of chaos continued to crescendo until it was all a blur of sound. Rick braced his hands beneath him, tucking the radio tightly into his waistband to stand up. The door stopped shaking little by little. Rick pressed his ear to the wood, listening for any sign of the dead. 

“Go!” the radio crackled from his belt. “Around the back. Fast as you can.”

Rick seized the handle and turned. He spilled out into the empty hallway, doing his best not to so much as breathe loudly. The dead were all congregating near the front, banging on the window, fixated on the ruckus outside. Rick crept as quickly as he dared, darting past them and towards the back. He paused at the gun locker, calculating the risk before diving inside. A duffle bag became the vessel for every weapon he could find as Rick jammed them all unceremoniously inside, not bothering to zip it as he slid back into the hallway. The bag banged against his injured leg. Rick let out a surprised grunt of pain. 

From the front of the precinct, one of the dead turned, aiming for him. 

“Shit,” Rick ran, lungs burning. The knob to the backdoor was slippery in his blood-slicked hands, but he managed it, hauling it open and tumbling into the back alley. He kicked the door shut, watching in satisfaction as the heavy metal swung back into his attacker’s face. 

“You’re not done yet.” The radio voice was right behind him, along with persistent hands, pulling him to his feet. “We gotta run, cowboy.”

Rick glanced over his shoulder, coming face to face with a young man. His black hair was half-obscured by a nondescript baseball cap, and he was wearing an unbuttoned jersey to match. He didn’t look like he’d be able to so much as get a drink at a bar without being carded, but he was Rick’s best shot at survival. 

“Lead the way,” Rick followed, hiking the bag of guns higher on his arm. 

The kid looked relieved that Rick didn’t put up a fight, nodding and taking off down the street. Rick dogged his steps, cognizant of the threat in the distance. 

“I need help,” the kid made a jump for a fire escape overhead, dragging the rusted metal ladder down with a deafening screech. Rick added his weight, yanking as hard as he was able. 

“Here,” Rick offered him a boost, shoving his partner upward. 

“That bag, do you need it?” the kid asked, looking down at Rick over his shoulder as he climbed. 

“Yeah,” Rick followed him, glancing at the herd of the dead now coming up the alleyway. “We both will.” 

Rick handed it up as they clambered onto the roof. With a grunt, his ally yanked it over, setting it down to reach for Rick’s arm. Rick fell over the side, catching his breath for a moment. The rain felt marvelous on his heated skin. He shut his eyes, exhausted, and let the water run down his face. 

“Thank you,” Rick muttered, taking a sideways look at his companion. “Not a lot of folks would risk themselves like that.”

The young man shrugged. “Hopefully, it’ll buy me some good karma.” He cracked a grin. “So what’s in the bag?”

Rick sat up, unzipping it. He lifted a few of the weapons out. The kid whistled. 

“All right, so that was worth it. You went in for that?”

Rick nodded. “And a radio.” He tugged it out of his waistband, setting it in the bag for safe keeping.

“Not a bad idea,” the kid flashed his own. “Got this out of my car right before the whole world went to hell. Used to use it for delivering pizzas,” he chuckled. “I think I’m out of a job.”

“You’d make a decent cop,” Rick complimented. 

The kid laughed outright, looking wistful. “Hate to break it to you, Dirty Harry, but I think you’re out of a job too.” He peered over the edge, down at the dead. “I’m Glenn, by the way. Rhee.” He extended his hand. 

“Rick Grimes,” Rick shook it, shoving his soaked hair out of his face. 

“Nice to meet you,” Glenn nodded. His eyes fell to Rick’s bleeding leg. “You’re a tough guy to run on that.”

“Adrenaline,” Rick brushed it off. 

“Were you bit?” Glenn asked, dark eyes narrowing. He took a step backwards.

“Glass,” Rick explained, removing the bandage. He poked at it, hissing at the heated and sensitive skin. 

“We should clean that out. I’m not a doctor, but that doesn’t look good. Better than a bite. If those geeks bite you, you turn.” 

“Yeah,” Rick’s mind wandered back to this morning and his rookie. “That I know.”

Glenn looked around. “Think we could break that door down?” he asked, pointing. 

Rick removed his Colt, standing to his feet. “Yeah,” he lifted it, aiming for the lock. The ping as the bullet broke it apart was deafening, but Rick’s ears had been ringing for hours now. He and Glenn climbed carefully down the darkened stairs, pausing at every creak or sound. 

“Where are we?” Rick asked. 

“Wal-Mart,” Glenn answered. “Figured it might be good to stock up.”

Rick squinted. “Ain’t it always full of people?”

Glenn shrugged. “All stores closed early this morning. Should be locked up tight from the outside.”

“And if it’s not?” Rick challenged. 

Glenn looked over his shoulder. “Then you and I haul ass back up the stairs.”

Rick nodded, thumbing the hammer back on his Colt. “You ready?” he asked, listening at the door into the store. 

“Ready,” Glenn agreed. 

They pushed it open slowly and were greeted with only silence. Rick let out a sigh of relief. 

“Dark in here,” he observed, reaching for his maglite. 

Glenn pushed forward. “I’m thinking we grab food, batteries, the essentials. Anything we can load in a car. Then we make a run for it. Get out of the city, into the mountains.”

“Whoa,” Rick halted. “Wait a minute--”

“You have a better idea, Eastwood?” Glenn asked with good humor, already heading for the canned food section. 

“Yeah,” Rick watched. “I gotta get to DC.”

“Why?” Glenn raised a brow. “The government isn’t going to do anything.”

Rick snorted. “Not going for the government.” 

Glenn considered this. “Who are you going for then?”

“Someone important to me.” Rick began to walk slowly through the aisles, looking for anything of use. 

“And, he? She?” Glenn paused, waiting for confirmation before continuing. “She’s in DC?”

“Just outside of it.” Michonne had sent her address in a text after she’d arrived. A lot of good that did without his phone. 

“Look, I don’t say this to be a dick,” Glenn began. “But how do you know she’s--” He swallowed. “Still around?”

Rick sucked in a sharp breath. “I called her right when this all started. Told her to get somewhere safe. She’s smart. She’ll…” his throat felt suddenly tight.

“Did she call back?” Glenn asked. 

“Dropped my phone,” Rick mumbled. 

Glenn sighed loudly, fumbling in his pocket. He drew his own cell phone out. “What’s your number, cowboy?”

“What?” Rick blinked. “Won’t do any good. I dropped--”

“Ok grandpa,” Glenn grinned. “Let’s access your messages and see if she called back.”

Rick rattled off his number, watching as Glenn’s fingers moved quickly in the low glow of the phone screen. “You can do that?” he asked. 

Glenn chuckled. “Here,” he handed the phone over. 

Ten messages. Rick navigated through them, listening briefly as coworkers and friends called him in various states of panic. He ignored the pang of sadness, and the fear blossoming in the center of his chest. 

“ _Rick_ ,” Michonne’s voice was like a bolt to the heart. Rick pressed the phone closer to his ear. “ _I got your message. I...I’m headed home. It’s quiet here, but something is going on. Please call me back. Who was screaming? Was it--_ _I love you too. Please be safe. Don’t be a hero, ok? Get somewhere secure. We can meet--_ ”

The message ended abruptly. Rick pulled the phone back. “How do I call her?” he asked urgently. 

“Did she call you?” Glenn looked impressed. “Ok, hold on.”

“Hold on what?” Rick grew restless. “Every second she’s out there--”

“She’s just as in danger as the rest of us,” Glenn interrupted. “And I’m happy to help you again, cowboy, but we need some ground rules.”

Rick sucked at his teeth. “All right, like what?” he challenged. 

“You’re trying to get to DC,” Glenn recounted. “You need a car. Easy enough but we need one with gas, and probably four wheel drive. Not to mention space to store everything. All the roads out of here are clogged up, crawling with the dead. It isn’t going to be easy.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rick clipped out. “I’m heading for her. You don’t have to come.”

Glenn paused at that. “I’ll level with you cowboy,” he began. “I need something too. You aren’t the only one with a girl out there.”

“Yeah?” Rick asked, distracted. He considered making a grab for the phone. Glenn pulled it back. 

“Yeah. She’s not as far as yours. You get me to her, I’ll help get you out of the city.”

“What if I don’t need your help?” Rick asked. 

“You’ve got balls, Sheriff,” Glenn shrugged. “But I know the quickest routes around this city. And all those guns aren’t going to be worth much without someone to back you up.”

Rick weighed his options. “Fine,” he agreed. “Your girl. Where’s she?”

“The college right outside of the city,” Glenn sounded hopeful. 

“We leave now then,” Rick instructed. “I call Michonne, and then we go, got it?”

“Michonne,” Glenn nodded. “Pretty name. My girl’s Maggie.”

“Great,” Rick thrust his hand out. “Phone.”

“All right,” Glenn agreed, handing it over. “Call her.”

Rick did so at once, pressing the only number he still had memorized into the handheld device. It began to ring, the dial tone doing little to ease Rick’s fear. 

“Hello?” her voice answered, breathless.

“Michonne,” Rick let out a gasp, relief flooding him. 

“Rick?” Michonne’s voice warbled. 

“Yeah, darling,” he smiled. “It’s me.”

-l-l-l-l-

“This isn’t going to be enough,” Jesus observed serenely, shutting her cabinets. 

“Well, I was just getting settled. Hadn’t really planned on the damn apocalypse.” Michonne shut her refrigerator door, cursing her decision to save grocery shopping for the weekend. 

“Understandable,” his lips quirked under his beard. “This house, how attached are you?”

Michonne paused, considering. It didn’t feel like home, and not simply because it was new. “Not very,” she answered. 

“Ok, hear me out,” Jesus requested. “This area’s grown a lot over the years, and all these housing developments popped up. I was working with a group to try and get so low-income and no-income housing but…” He let out a frustrated huff. “Anyway. There’s a settlement. It isn’t done yet, but it’s supposed to be state of the art. And it’s gated.”

Michonne raised a brow, interested. “Where’s it at?”

“10 miles away. Near the river. It was supposed to have a big opening day next week. Doubt that’s going to happen now.” Jesus chuckled.

“So we load the car up, make a run for it?” Michonne didn’t hate the idea. “Can we get into the gate?”

“We’ll get in,” Jesus answered confidently. “But we need a few things first.”

The sun was beginning to set as they arrived at the strip mall, the fading rays throwing long shadows over the handful of dead meandering in the parking lot. 

“Go slow,” Jesus instructed from the front seat, “Round the back. The garage should still be unlocked.”

“And if it isn’t?” Michonne questioned tersely, navigating in the dark. 

“Then I better be quick,” he answered, nonplussed. He drummed his fingers along the handle. “There,” he said, perking up. “The loading dock.”

“All right,” Michonne rolled up as close as she dared, leaving only a few feet of space for her partner to squeeze into. “Is the gate loud?” she asked. 

“Very,” Jesus pulled his beanie snuggly over his head. “Once I open it, you floor it in and I'll close it again. 

“Be fast,” Michonne cautioned. 

Jesus only grinned, hopping out of the car. Michonne waited with baited breath as he fussed with the lock, crouching to work it open with a tool he kept in his pocket. In a minute or two he had it open. He shot her a thumbs up. 

“Ready?” he mouthed. 

Michonne nodded. The screech of the doors was tantamount to an explosion, it’s rusty mechanics squealing like a stuck pig. The moans began immediately in the distance. Michonne steadied herself, pressing her foot lightly over the gas. Jesus managed to get the gate open just wide enough and she lurched her car forward into the darkness. The screech sounded again as he closed the gate behind them. 

“Paul?” she called his given name, cracking the door open. 

In answer, the buzz of fluorescent lights sounded, flickering as they came on with a pop. Michonne found them both blinking at each other from across a large storage facility. 

“Thank God for secondhand stores,” Jesus smiled, gesturing for her. He patted a large truck on the side. “Maybe we can find the keys. Then we can take both of these.”

Michonne felt a brief sting of guilt as they filled her car with supplies, loading in canned goods by the box, blankets, clothing, and more. She felt strangely glad that she’d watched Rick pack her car not long ago, mirroring his tidy and organized style. He stayed on her mind as she and Jesus crept into the storefront, picking their way through aisles of hodgepodge donated goods. A set of leather cowboy boots caught her eye. Michonne reached for them, checking the size.

“Didn’t take you for a cowboy boot kind of person,” Jesus whispered, peering onto the lower shelves. 

“I’m not,” she answered, tucking them under her arm. 

“Wouldn’t be a bad idea to get a weapon,” he mused. “I don’t think fists are going to quite do the trick.”

“A bat?” Michonne glanced towards a pile of sports equipment. She poked around, pausing at a long, thin handle. 

“Or a sword,” Jesus glanced up at her, grinning. “Fits you better than the boots.”

“Yeah?” Michonne unsheathed it, looking at it closely. 

Jesus shrugged. “Why not?” 

Michonne couldn’t argue with that logic. She resheathed the weapon, hanging it over her back. It bounced between her shoulder blades as they continued on. 

“We can practice with it,” Jesus told her as they wandered behind the counters, looking for the keys to the transport truck.

“You know swords?” Michonne asked, surprised. 

“I know fighting,” he answered, plucking multiple keychains off their neat hooks. 

“How very un-holy of you,” Michonne deadpanned.

Jesus laughed. “The beard got me the nickname, not these hands,” he wiggled his fingers. “You ready?”

It was dark by the time they left, the streets clotted with only the dead. Michonne did her best to not look, staying focused on the tailpipe of the truck Jesus had commandeered. The ten miles to the housing development seemed like an odyssey. They navigated down narrow, quiet roads, the forest pressing in like specters on either side. Michonne glanced down at her phone, plugged in and charging. There was a message from Andrea. 

Sighing, she refocused, easing to a halt in front of a high gate. 

“This is it,” Jesus opened the door to his truck, jumping out. His feet crunched on the wet gravel beneath them. 

“How are you going to get it open?” she asked. 

He knelt to his work. “I can get the lock. Watch my back, ok?”

Michonne nodded, turning. Somewhat unsure, she drew the sword at her back. “Think it’s sharp?” she asked her companion. 

“Hope so,” he answered without looking up. The faint click of metal on metal sounded in the quiet night. 

A rustling from the trees drew her attention. Michonne snapped her head over, sword out. One of the dead stumbled out onto the road, beelining for them. 

“You almost done?” she asked urgently over her shoulder.

“Almost,” Jesus grunted. “We still need time to get back in the cars.”

Michonne turned back towards the dead walker, steeling her nerve. Choking up on the handle, she swung, grimacing at the smell of decay as the dead woman got within throwing distance. She managed to clip it, knocking a gash in the arm that left the limb hanging uselessly. 

“Shit,” she breathed, winding back up as the monster staggered forward. With another mighty swing, she took its head off, sending it skittering a few feet away, still snapping. 

“Very nice,” Jesus crawled to his feet, looking over with obvious appreciation. 

“It’s still alive,” she observed. 

He came over to look, poking the head gingerly with a toe. “Maybe it’s something in the brain,” he speculated. 

Michonne stabbed downward, ignoring the crunch of bone as her blade slid neatly through the skull. The head stopped at once. 

“Shit,” Michonne lifted the sword, shaking it. “It’s stuck.”

Jesus grimaced. “We need to sharpen it,” he observed. “After we wipe it down.” 

The head slipped free, landing with a wet slap in the gravel. 

“Let’s get inside,” Michonne said. She’d had about all that she could handle today. 

With the cars safely away, and the gates locked and reinforced, she felt almost safe in the new house with her new friend. A call to Andrea went unanswered, as did another to Rick. Michonne settled against the couch, trying and failing to hide her disappointment. 

“Tell me about him,” Jesus requested, voice low in the darkened room. 

“Rick?” she asked, surprised. 

Jesus nodded. “I want to hear.”

Michonne paused, considering. “He’s a good man,” she started, frustrated that she could not manage to articulate him in all his qualities and shortcomings. “Cocky sometimes,” she smirked. “You should see him walk. He’s got this bowlegged swagger.”

“A cowboy,” Jesus correctly surmised. 

“Southern boy to his soul,” Michonne nodded. “With all the mannerisms to go with it. A gentleman too, even when he’s pissed.” That temper of his never was aimed directly at her, but she’d seen it enough to know it well. “He’s a sheriff,” she said. “Or was.”

“Brave then?” Jesus asked. 

“Yes,” Michonne agreed. “Stupid brave. He’d just made sergeant when I got the job offer to move here. And it wasn’t fair for him to leave his whole life, just for me.” Her throat tightened. 

Jesus considered this. “But you love each other,” he said. 

“Yes.” More than she’d loved any other person in her life. 

“Then you’ll find each other,” Jesus said sagely. “This life or the next.”

Michonne sniffled. “Maybe it’s the nickname,” she observed. “But I think I believe you.”

Jesus laughed outright. “The beard helps.”

Michonne relaxed into the cushions, wiping her face. “What about you?” she asked. 

Jesus smiled. “No special someone,” he said. “Wouldn’t mind a Rick though.”

They were still laughing when her phone began to buzz. Michonne reached for it, not recognizing the number. 

“Doubt it’s a robot call,” Jesus observed.

“Maybe it’s Andrea,” Michonne slid her thumb over the screen. “Hello?” she answered cautiously. 

“Michonne,” the voice on the other end was raspy, a gravelly southern drawl. Her heart clenched at once, the tears beginning again. 

“Rick?” she asked, barely believing her ears. 

“Yeah, darling. It’s me.”

  
  



	4. Additions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Michonne gain new allies and run into new troubles.

" _I love you, Rick. Hurry home._ "

Michonne's words echoed in Rick's ears, every syllable committed to memory. He had 10 hours and 635 miles to go until she was in his arms again. He planned on making it by nightfall.

The sun rose quickly, leaving splotchy patches of sunlight all over the massive parking lot outside. The rain hadn't quite let up, rendering the ground slippery and wet. Rick tightened the laces on his work boots, clutched the red-handled machete he'd found in the gardening section, and peered out of the delivery dock.

"The SUV," he pointed, staring at the closet vehicle. "Door's open. Keys are inside."

"It's going to be wet," Glenn grimaced, pulling on his ball cap. "And we don't know if it has gas."

"Gonna need to stop at some point anyway," Rick speculated. "And I could hotwire a car, but the alarm is going to go. I'd rather not bring a mess of walkers on us. We can grab some towels with the rest of the stuff."

Glenn sighed, but saw sense. "Alright," he agreed. "I'll swing it in here. We'll load up, then head out."

"School first, then Alexandria." Rick calculated, wishing this was a no-stop trip. He trusted Michonne's judgment, trusted that she felt comfortable with her new companion. The matter remained that he wasn't about to breathe easy until he was beside her.

"Ok cowboy," Glenn nodded. "See you in a minute." With a nervous grin, the young man dipped out in the damp dawn, picking a careful path straight to the vehicle.

Rick watched with baited breath, his Colt leveled in case any of the dead got too close for comfort. Glenn made it all the way to the car before they noticed him. The click of the driver's side door and the rumble of the engine drew their ire.

Rick cursed under his breath, quickly making a way for Glenn to angle the car in. He wrenched the door open, tossing in supplies without a care, hauling it all in as quickly as he could. The moans of the walkers grew louder as they drew closer, ambling towards the duo.

"Go," Rick secured the bag of guns between the front seats and climbed in after them, tugging the door shut.

Glenn obeyed, peeling out, knocking the dead aside like bowling pins. "Not bad," he exhaled, laughing nervously.

"Let's hope the rest of the day goes like that," Rick agreed, leaning back in his seat. He reached into his shirt, drawing out a carefully folded piece of paper.

The streets of Atlanta were a blur of destruction and carnage. Both men refused to look out the window, determined to get out of town.

"Don't get on the freeway," Rick advised. "It's going to be packed."

"I'm going to drive up the other way," Glenn said. "News cameras kept showing drone footage as it was happening." Glenn sighed. "There was no one trying to get into the city."

The thought was sobering. Rick nodded, turning back to his task.

"Where did you even find that?" Glenn glanced over, looking at the item in Rick's lap like it was a venomous spider.

"It's a map," Rick repeated, good humor failing him. "It's the thing people used before they put their brain inside phones." He'd carefully studied it by the light of an electric lantern last night while his companion slept. Several routes were traced out in pencil, with the best one marked in red sharpie.

"Hey," Glenn argued. "That phone got us those directions on that map. And it could get us there too, without wasting a tree."

Rick sucked at his teeth, summoning patience he was running low on. "We don't know how long that will last. We don't know if there will be cell towers, or signal." He shook the map to make his point, listening to the paper rustle. "So we've got this."

"If you say so," Glenn pushed his baseball cap off, setting it on the console between them. He was sweating, his brow dotted in perspiration.

"You need to calm down," Rick observed. "Crack a window. Breathe."

"I know, it's just…" Glenn swallowed. "I just want to get her and be together, you know?"

"Yeah," Rick focused on the map, looking at the place he'd circled in bright red ink last night. "I know."

Alexandria. 10 hours and hundreds of miles away at the best of times. They couldn't get there fast enough. Michonne's instructions still echoed in his ears, the relief in her voice so potent that it was nearly palpable. She was alive and he was coming for her. A half hour of tense silence passed as they rolled up the completely empty highway, thankful for the wall between them and the other side. A walker or two came into sight occasionally, but couldn't keep up with the car.

"Ok," Rick looked up, "repeat the plan," he prompted the young man beside him.

Glenn nodded. "I drive. You shoot."

"You know where her dorm is?" Rick asked.

"Yeah. Used to deliver pizzas there all the time. It's how we met, actually-"

"I'm sure you can both tell me when she's in the car," Rick cut him off kindly. "You don't stop this engine, not for any reason."

"Right," Glenn cleared his throat, running red as the university came closer in the distance.

"We hit or shoot anything that gets close enough. Maggie jumps in, we peel out," Rick repeated, reaching for a shotgun. "5 minutes."

"5 minutes," Glenn agreed, rolling his window down a crack. He fiddled with the phone charging on the console of their SUV, punching the screen until it began to ring through the car's speakers.

"Glenn," a feminine voice answered, the hint of a country twang coloring her speech. "Are you here?"

"We're pulling in," Glenn said, his voice suddenly filled with confidence. "Be ready."

"I'm ready," the young woman sounded equally resolved.

Rick climbed into the back, opening the skylight above him. The air was humid and sticky already, a shock from the inside of the car. Rick ignored it, pushing his hair out of his face, and leveling his weapon.

The first shot caught a walker between the eyes, clearing a bloody path for the car as Glenn careened them into the parking lot. As Rick suspected, the commotion began to draw more of them. He took aim again, firing off a few shots in quick succession. The car alarms began like a wave, setting one another off until the morning air was a commotion of clatter.

"Where is she?" Rick shouted, attempting to save the bullets. Around him were scores of the dead, still dressed like students, even down to the backpacks. Rick swallowed the knot forming in his stomach, searching for a girl to match the one Glenn had shown him this morning on his phone.

"Maggie!" Glenn called frantically into the receiver, "You have to be quick."

"I'm coming!" The whispered answer crackled through the car's interior speakers.

"Where?" Rick asked, picking another few off. He reloaded, trying to keep his balance as Glenn mounted the curb.

"There!" Glenn yelled, but Rick already saw her.

A young brunette woman was running at full speed, a bag bouncing at her back, her brown hair slick to her face. Carefully, Rick took aim, felling a walker right on her tail.

"Don't stop," Rick warned.

If Glenn heard him, he showed no sign. He swung the SUV, knocking the air out of Rick's lungs as he struggled to hold on. Rick's plea fell on deaf ears. Glenn's entire focus shifted to the woman clawing frantically at the door. She was inside at last, kicking out at the dead as they snapped and groaned, meandering in circles in all of the confusion.

"Go!" Rick shouted, steadying himself.

Glenn obeyed, blood spraying as he ran the car forward without discrimination. Rick ducked sputtering back inside, wiping gore from his face. He stepped gingerly over their new passenger, dropping into the seat next to her.

"Nice to meet you," Rick mustered a smile, adrenaline still racing. "I'm Rick."

The young woman, still shell-shocked, looked up at him, catching her breath. "I'm Maggie," she announced. "I hear we're heading for Virginia."

"Sure are," Rick handed her the gun, ensuring the safety was on. "I'd buckle up," he suggested, climbing back into the front seat and to his map. "We've got 9 hours to get to know each other."

-l-l-l-l-

"You're good with that thing," Jesus complimented, taking a step back as Michonne stabbed her sword through the bars of the gate.

She grunted, yanking back, ignoring the squelch sound as the blade slid cleanly through a dead man's head. "Thanks," she muttered, flicking the darkened blood away. She'd spent an hour last night sharpening it to a deadly point, practicing with it until the grip felt natural. She supposed there might be a day where the motion was muscle memory, but for now, killing even the dead turned her stomach.

" _Do what you gotta do, you hear me Michonne? Promise me, darling. You do what you need to do to stay safe._ "

Rick's words ran on repeat in her mind, hardening her nerve as she cleared a few more of the dead from the path. Jesus helped, calmly knocking the dead over with the long handle of a push broom. From up the road, the crunch of tires drew both of their attention.

"You sure you can trust her?" Jesus asked serenely, pausing to pull his long hair up. It was hot already, the morning sweltering as the fog burned off and retreated back down towards the river.

"She's smart," Michonne said. "Capable." she tugged at her tank top, fussing with the hem to coax in a modicum of cooling air.

"She didn't come with you yesterday," Jesus pointed out.

"No one knew what was happening yesterday," Michonne shrugged, watching as the car approached. If Rick hadn't called her, she might have been too late to save even herself.

"Just making sure she's not a liability?" he mused.

"You didn't know me when you helped me yesterday," Michonne shot him a look.

It was Jesus' turn to shrug. "I watched you jump out of a car to try and save a stranger from a herd of dead people. Seemed like a good bet that you were a decent person."

Michonne snorted. Yesterday evening felt far off already. She'd lived a lifetime between Rick's voicemail and his second call. 10 hours, 11 if they were being generous. If he wasn't here by then, she wasn't sure how she would make it through another night in this hellscape.

"Andrea will earn her place, Paul," she assured her companion. "She always does. What about the guy you have coming?"

"Aaron?" Jesus' face split into a grin he quickly tried to quell. "You're going to love him," he said evenly, still beaming.

"Hmm," Michonne hummed knowingly. "Seems like someone already beat me to that."

He didn't deny it, but turned a faint pink. "He doesn't know it yet. We were both dating people and…" he shrugged. "Love's complicated."

"Yeah," Michonne agreed lowly, her mind racing a month back to Rick's living room, to the feeling of him holding her so tightly it nearly bruised. "That I know."

"You're right though," Jesus cleared his throat. "We need a team. A community. Who knows how long this is all going to last?"

The idea was terrifying. Michonne put it aside.

"We'll be ready," she promised, waving as a car came into view. She recognized the sporty little two seater at once. It looked even more absurd now than it had near Capitol Hill.

"Not sure we need _two_ politicians around here," Jesus got in one last dig as the car slowed to a crawl in front of them.

Michonne smirked. "Well, with two hippies around, I'm sure it'll balance out." She let her sword hang loosely at her side, waving at a familiar blonde woman.

"There's another car behind me," Andrea said by way of greeting. "Is it your people?" She looked at Jesus, sizing him up.

Jesus only grinned. "Let's hope so," he said cheerfully.

"Michonne," Andrea turned to her. "How did you meet this guy?" she whispered. "I've seen him around the Capitol, protesting."

"He wasn't protesting when I found him," Michonne cast a fond look at her partner. "But he did save my life."

Andrea accepted this, offering a half-hearted smile. "I left a few minutes after you," she said. "I was seeing the reports, and getting scared. I ran outside, and all of these dead-" she broke off. "Can't get ahold of my parents, my sister-"

Michonne reached for her, squeezing her arm. "We'll keep trying," she assured her, watching as an unmarked white van cruised up the gravel drive towards them.

Jesus waved them inside. The pair of women observed as three people piled out, two men, one wiry and thin, another tantamount to a linebacker. The woman was smaller than both, but clearly in charge, hopping out of the driver's seat and ushering her companions inside the gates.

"Holy shit," Andrea breathed. "Is that Tyreese Williams? From the Redskins?"

"I hate that name," Michonne huffed, shaking her head as she walked over to greet them. "Let's get inside the gates," she announced, trying to sound pleasant. "Then we can chat."

"That's what I was saying," the young woman from the van cast an appreciative nod in Michonne's direction.

Andrea returned to her car, fumbling with her keys in the lock. Michonne watched, amused.

"Why'd you lock it?" she asked, holding in a laugh.

"Habit," Andrea flushed, dropping the keyring. "Shit."

From behind her out of the treeline, one of the dead suddenly emerged, moaning and heading straight for her. Andrea let out a terrified squeal, flattening against the car. Their new arrivals all moved forward, but Michonne got there the fastest.

In a swipe, the head came clean off, soaring off to land with a sickening crunch in the gravel a few yards out.

"Nice," the pro-football player called appreciatively.

Michonne flicked the blood off the blade, bending to hand Andrea her keys.

"Michonne," fear was evident in her friend's tone.

"It's ok," Michonne assured her. "C'mon, let's get inside."

More moaning off in the distance was sufficient enough to darken the mood for the whole group. By the time they were all safely inside, a dozen or so of the dead had gathered at the gate.

"We need to strengthen the walls," Jesus observed, doling out water to the new arrivals. Introductions had been made without much ceremony, naming the former strangers as Aaron, Tyreese, and Tyreese's sister, Sasha. The former two had been part of a charity event facilitated by Aaron when the first of the dead struck, necessitating an unlikely alliance. Michonne supposed there would be plenty of time to get to know one another now, if they were lucky.

First, they needed to be smart.

"Supplies, food, weapons," Michonne listed. "We have some, but we need more. The construction crews left enough to reinforce the gates. Maybe build a wall behind it."

"I can do that," Aaron announced. "The non-profit we worked for," he looked to Jesus. "We did some construction projects. Housing, all that."

"Don't know much about construction, but I can help," Tyreese volunteered.

"I'm a good shot," Sasha imparted, shrugging. "Was training to be a cop before this."

"Michonne's boyfriend is a cop," Jesus announced, grinning at her.

"Sheriff," Michonne corrected absently.

"Boyfriend?" Andrea looked over at Michonne. She'd been pale since arriving, and shaky. "You didn't say the sheriff was your boyfriend."

"There wasn't time to explain," Michonne simplified. "Rick said to go, so…" she sighed. "The point is, we're going to need to get organized if we're going to make a run at this. The news broadcasts stopped hours ago, and the radio is looping the same emergency signal. I think surviving is up to us now."

"We can do it," Jesus sounded confident. Michonne appreciated it immensely.

"We can," she agreed. "But we do it together. Rick will be here soon, and he's got more people with him. We can get rules then, get schedules, and jobs, and rations. But first-"

"We need that wall," Sasha said, staring beyond the group at the dead gathering.

"Right," Michonne said. "So are we all in this?"

One by one, they all agreed, stony looks of resolution on their faces. Michonne felt her heart lighten just a fraction.

"Ok," she said. "Let's get started."

-l-l-l-l-

"We go quick," Rick instructed, leveling his Colt. "Maggie, can you stay in the car, watch Glenn's back?"

"I can," the young girl had proven herself to be a tough ally, even in the last few hours. Once the panic from her escape wore off, it was easy to see why Glenn was besotted. She knew her way around a weapon, and could easily read the map Rick had taken. Her farm girl nature was a welcome foil to Glenn's city boy knowledge.

Still, it wouldn't do anyone good if they were attacked. The car needed gas, and that meant making a dangerous stop.

"Think they take cash?" Glenn quipped, squinting in the rapidly setting sunlight at the fueling station.

Maggie giggled. Rick held in a snort.

"Focus," he commanded them both with as much patience as he could muster. The road so far had been far too calm, if not slow going. They had hours to go in the dark still. They needed to be as quick as possible.

"Coast looks clear," Maggie observed as they rolled slowly forward.

"Glenn, keep your hand on the keys," Rick said, preparing to step outside. "I'm going to fill the tank, and if we have time, a few containers."

"Got it, boss," Glenn pulled in, maneuvering to the middle pump. "Mags, you good up there?"

She climbed into the skylight, weapon ready. "I'm good."

"All right, sheriff," Glenn looked over. "It's all you."

Rick climbed out, ignoring the ache in his leg from his wound. Sitting for hours hadn't done wonders. He wondered if Maggie's farm knowledge included anything about stitches. "Can you call Michonne for me?" he asked, looking around. "Let her know we're still coming?"

"Yeah," Glenn agreed. "She's going to want to talk to you though."

The thought cheered Rick. "You're right. We'll call her when we're back on the road."

"Be quick," Glenn nodded, shutting off the engine.

It felt absurd to run his credit card in the machine after all that had happened, but Rick couldn't think of a quicker way to get the gas he needed. The sound of the pump whirring away was loud in the otherwise quiet evening. The SUV guzzled gas by the gallon.

"I'm going to go around back," Rick told Glenn once it was filled. "Grab a few of those red containers."

"Shout if you need help," Glenn squinted worriedly.

"I will," Rick promised, jogging off.

He paused to peek into the window of the mini mart, noticing how empty it was, and how picked over the shelves were. A stack of candy caught his eye. Michonne had a sweet tooth, always munching on chocolate every chance she could get. Rick used to keep it at the house for her, sneaking it into her work bag when she stayed the night at his place. The shelf nearest the door was still ladened with a few of her absolute favorites. Rick pushed the door open before he could think too much on it.

"Freeze," a rough voice accompanied the metallic click of a gun. The barrel pressed against his head.

Rick stopped short, cursing himself.

"Don't move," the voice repeated, nudging him forward. "You scream, and I'll shoot. Understood?"

"Yeah," Rick looked back towards the car, realizing he was blocked by the wall of pumps and the setting sun. "I got it."


	5. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick runs into trouble.

“Careful,” Michonne cautioned, catching a glass jar of pasta sauce before it crashed to the tile floor beneath. 

“Sorry,” Sasha said, wincing as she pulled her rifle closer to her body. The aisles of the store were darkened. The only light came from the windows and skylights above, throwing eerie splotches of color over the bright and abandoned posters advertising 2 for 1 specials.

Sasha had been picking her way up the aisles at the grocery store with Michonne and Andrea for upwards of a half hour, filling the carts they each dragged along two by two. 

“Might be good to get some fresh produce,” Andrea murmured. 

“It’ll just go bad,” Sasha protested. 

“Not all of it, not right away,” Andrea argued, considering. “And a lot of it can be planted. If this goes on long...” she shrugged, running a hand over a stack of lemons.

“I don’t know the first thing about farming,” Sasha admitted. 

“Maybe Jesus knows. Maybe he can conjure up a miracle. Split loaves and fish and all that,” Andrea suggested.

The two women enjoyed a chuckle while Michonne shook her head. 

“Rick had a garden,” she said, thinking about the narrow vegetable patch growing in the backyard of his two bedroom house. She used to watch him on his hands and knees, enjoying teasing him as he rooted out weeds and marveled over his ability to grow carrots. 

“What can’t Rick do?” Sasha asked, trying and failing to hide her smile.

Michonne shot her a glare, but laughed. “Sorry,” she said, loading her cart with a crate of apples. “I just--”

“Miss him,” Sasha sobered. “I know.” She hurried up the aisle, grabbing potatoes. 

“The whole box?” Andrea asked in surprise, hastening forward to help her with it. 

“I’m not living in a world without potatoes,” Sasha said, her expression suggesting she wasn’t remotely kidding. 

“We should grab some chocolate too,” Michonne looked over, as though the candy would simply appear. 

“Sweet tooth?” Sasha asked. 

Andrea laughed. “Oh yeah. Wasn’t an hour before Michonne had a whole bag of dark chocolate covered espresso beans in her desk,” she disclosed, shooting Michonne a wink. “And she still snatched up every candy that came into the Capitol building.”

“Not  _ every _ candy,” Michonne protested. “Just the chocolate. Besides, it was a stressful job,” she shrugged. “I stress eat.”

“Stress?” Andrea furrowed her brow. “You seemed like you were doing just fine.”

“Sure,” Michonne helped them navigate their carts through the produce section. “But it’s hard moving.”

“Especially when you’re leaving the love of your life,” Sasha nodded. 

Michonne didn’t answer. Andrea and Sasha exchanged conspirator’s glances. 

“How come you never mentioned him?” Andrea asked innocently. 

Michonne sucked at her teeth. “Maybe we should talk about this back home,” she suggested. 

“Oh, do you have something better to do?” Sasha queried. “Spin us a tale.”

“We technically broke up,” Michonne relayed. The sting of the event hadn’t quite faded, even with recent developments. 

“Over the job?” Andrea asked.

“He’d just gotten promoted and I--” Michonne sighed. “At the time, the job seemed important. So I came and we agreed to stay friends.”

“How’d that work?” Sasha asked. 

“Not great,” Michonne snorted. “Probably shouldn’t call your ex all the time. Or text them.”

“Ahhhh,” Andrea nodded. “Explains why you needed all those espresso beans. Late night chats?”

Michonne flushed as they both laughed. “Sometimes,” she admitted, hurrying off.

“Ok,” Sasha guffawed. “But tell us about him. What’s he look like?”

Michonne shook her head, fishing the phone out of her pocket. She scrolled through her photo album, racing past pictures of the house she’d already abandoned, of the hallways at work, the faces of government officials she was beginning to forget. At once, Rick’s image filled her screen, dozens of photos of him and her. She handed it over. 

“Well damn,” Andrea whistled. “You think you would have mentioned him.”

“He’s cute,” Sasha conceded, squinting at the screen. “I think he’d look good with a beard.”

Michonne snorted, taking her phone back. She tucked it into her jeans, hoping she’d have cause to take it out again soon. 

“Any word from him?” Andrea asked.

“No,” Michonne didn’t bother to keep the disappointment out of her voice. A call had gone unreturned, sending her anxiety spiking. Their rendezvous time with Jesus was just minutes away. Sundown wasn’t far off. If Rick and his crew didn’t arrive by then--

“And you?” Sasha looked over at Andrea. “Have you heard from any of your people?”

The blonde shook her head, swallowing, her eyes suddenly downcast. “My parents and sister were in Florida. Last I saw on the news…” 

Florida, like Atlanta and much of the country, was overrun. The last broadcast had come late last night, with only static greeting them for hours on end now. Michonne reached for her friend’s arm, offering what she hoped was comfort. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, wishing there was more to say. Andrea had checked her phone every five minutes for the better part of the day.

“I was supposed to be with them,” Andrea’s voice was shaky. “For summer break. They invited me, but I told them I’d come later. Work--” she broke off, wiping at her face. 

Sasha nodded, her gaze pointedly off her companions. “My boyfriend,” she began, “he managed to get a call in before this all went down.”

“That’s good, right?” Michonne asked.

Sasha shrugged. “He was in the army. They were deployed to help. Haven’t heard from him since.” She tossed more into the cart, adjusting the gun on her shoulder. “I went with Tyreese to keep my mind off things, you know? Every time he’s deployed, I worry. But he always calls. He used to always call.”

Michonne fought her own tears, the pain in her chest growing like a balloon liable to burst. “What’s his name?” she whispered.

Sasha shook her head. “It was Abe,” she said simply, quickening her steps. 

“Do you wonder what’s the point?” Andrea asked. “Without them? You think all this shit is important. Jobs and things…” she broke off. “And now all I want is to hear their voices.”

Sasha remained silent, lost in her own demons. Michonne looked at the two of them. 

“We’re going to survive,” she said with a confidence she wasn’t sure she believed. “For them,” Michonne nodded. “We have to.”

There was a sudden grunting, startling the trio. One of the dead was trapped behind a mountain of shopping carts, caged like an animal. Sasha leveled her rifle, taking careful aim. She paused as suddenly as she began, looking over her shoulder.

“You do it,” she told Andrea.

“I don’t have anything,” Andrea’s eyes were wide. She glanced at both women. 

Sasha reached for a holster at her waist, handing it over. Andrea accepted the gun as though it was made of porcelain. 

“Just aim?” She lifted it, breathless.

“Well, take the safety off,” Sasha smiled, failing to hide her amusement. She gave Andrea a quick tutorial. “Have either of you ever fired a gun before?” she asked. 

Andrea shook her head. Michonne nodded. “Once. Rick tried to teach me. I hated it.”

“Might need to learn now,” Sasha observed, correcting Andrea’s form. 

She was just about to pull the trigger when Michonne cried out. 

“Wait,” she protested. “The sound might bring more.”

Sasha considered this. “Fair enough,” she took the gun, tucking away before handing Andrea a hunting knife. “This is quiet.”

“That’ll bring her too close,” Michonne said, looking warily at Andrea.

The blonde took a deep breath, color returning to her face. She seized the knife. “In the head?” she asked Michonne.

“Seems like that does the trick,” Michonne answered, reaching for her katana.

With a nod, Andrea strode forward. She reached the wall of carts and stabbed straight through, right into the walker’s eye. The body dropped, still at last. Michonne grimaced. Sasha nodded in approval.

“Not bad,” she complimented. “Keep that knife.”

“And the gun. Could you teach me?” Andrea asked, something like her old confidence springing back. She flicked the blood off the knife, looking at Sasha. 

“I’m teaching  _ both _ of you,” Sasha said, chuckling to herself. 

They finished up, walking their haul outside. Sasha covered them as Andrea and Michonne piled the supplies into the truck.

“How come we got stuck grocery shopping while the men build the wall?” Andrea asked as they maneuvered out of the parking lot. 

Michonne laughed. “I’m not messing with that wall,” she said. “I’m exercising my women’s right to not get splinters.”

“Fair enough,” Sasha laughed. “Tyreese lifts all of those weights. Let him do it.”

Andrea giggled, looking almost happy. Michonne turned the radio off, sick of the looping emergency broadcast. 

“So potatoes and chocolate,” she listed. “What are you going to miss, Andrea?”

“My vibrator,” Andrea answered without missing a beat. 

In the midst of their laughter, Michonne’s phone began to buzz in her pocket. She fished it out, holding it between her ear and shoulder. 

“Rick?” she asked eagerly.

The voice of a young man answered instead. Michonne recognized him as Glenn as once. 

“Look, Michonne,” he started. “There’s been a problem.”

Her stomach dropped. “What problem?” she asked, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

  
  


-l-l-l-l-

The gas station was quiet as a tomb, the silence interrupted only by the rough breathing of the two men hidden just in front of the store doors.

“All right,” Rick steadied his voice, raising his hands higher. “Calm down. Let’s talk about this.”

“Nothing to talk about,” the man behind him snapped, his clipped southern twang unfamiliar to Rick’s ears. The butt of a gun pressed hard to the back of his head. Rick tensed, mind racing. 

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he moved slowly, attempting to angle his body to draw attention to himself. He couldn’t hear a sound from Glenn and Maggie in the car. 

“Whole world’s gone to hell, friend,” the other man laughed. “This is the way it always was gonna end up. You got something we need. We’re claiming it. Nothing personal.”

“Feels a little personal,” Rick winced as the gun dug in further, scraping along his scalp.

“Maybe to you,” the voice was unconcerned. “But you got a car, you got what looks like food. Maybe even a woman. Now we’ve got it.”

“We?” Rick questioned, eyes darting around. “I only see you, friend.” He stressed the last syllable, wondering if yelling for Glenn and Maggie would only bring more down on them all.

“You won’t be seeing shit soon,” his attacker snorted. 

“We can work out a deal,” Rick tried again, shuffling. The man came into sight, grizzled and graying. He looked like a biker, the kind of person Rick spent his Saturday night’s locking up in the drunk tank at the precinct. “You don’t want to do this. Especially not to a cop.”

“A cop?” the man sounded almost impressed. “Can’t wait to tell the rest that there’s one less pig around.” He chuckled to himself. “You’re right. It  _ is _ personal.”

He slammed the gun into the back of Rick’s head. Rick’s knee buckled, the wound on his leg searing with pain. Rick held in a grunt, gritting his teeth so hard he nearly drew blood. He staggered forward, ducking his head as low as he could get it, and swinging his elbow back with all the force he could muster.

It collided solidly, the bone beneath it collapsing with a satisfying crunch. The man cried out, firing off a shot that echoed. Rick could hear the sounds of Glenn and Maggie, alert at last. He didn’t bother to hesitate, spinning to catch his attacker around the throat.

“Chokehold’s illegal,” the man griped, blood running down his purpling face.

“Should have taken the deal,” Rick answered, pushing harder. 

The man struggled, swinging wildly, hissing and sputtering as he struggled for air. He collapsed, and Rick bared down on him, holding until all the fight went out of his body. 

“Holy shit,” Maggie’s voice drew Rick’s attention. She was standing, gun out, face ashen. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” Rick didn’t bother checking. He staggered to his feet, yanking the gun away from the now slack hand of the man. “We need to go.”

Maggie nodded, “Glenn!” she called, looking over her shoulder. “Are you hurt?” she asked Rick. 

Rick shook his head, hiding his limp. “Get in the car,” he instructed. “I’m coming.” From somewhere nearby, the moaning had started, the tell-tell sign that the dead weren’t far off. 

Maggie obeyed, looking warily at him. Rick spun, tossing the door open to the store and reaching in. He was just feet from the SUV when the shots began to ring. They struck the pumps and ground around them, sending shrapnel spraying. The air became scented with the stench of gasoline.

“What the hell are you doing?” Glenn yelled at Rick, pushing Maggie’s head down as she leaned out to return fire. 

Rick reached for the door, pulling himself halfway in when something hit his side with the force of a truck. He cried out, gripping his side. Hot, sticky blood pooled between his fingers. With a mighty effort, Rick pulled himself in, yanking the door shut behind him. 

Glenn put his foot to the pedal, tires squealing as he peeled over the curb and away, bullets pinging off the asphalt around them. Rick could spot a group of walkers ambling into the gas station, some falling under the barrage, most still moving forward. More concerning were the shadows just in the distance, a group of a half dozen at least, all staring after the car. They made no move to help their comrade as the walkers grew closer, instead fading back off into the darkness.

“They’re going to eat that man,” Maggie breathed, eyes wide, gun still up as the gas station got further in the distance.

“He tried to kill me,” Rick pointed out, hissing at the pain the effort caused. Adrenaline was fading fast, leaving agony in its place.

“Oh fuck,” Glenn groaned, turning his eyes from the road back. “Are you shot?”

Rick struggled with his shirt, fighting to stay conscious. “I need some help,” he panted, going pale. 

“Maggie,” Glenn’s voice was rife with concern, but his girlfriend was already on the move, stowing her weapon and climbing into the back. 

“Did you bring a first aid kit?” she asked, tone strictly businesslike. 

“A few of them,” Glenn nodded. “Top of the stack in the back, red container.”

Maggie reached for them, carefully navigating around Rick. “Sewing kit?”

“In there with them,” Glenn said, glancing over his shoulder for a moment before turning his eyes back to the darkening road. 

“Ok,” Maggie retrieved both, moving them carefully to her lap. “Alcohol?” she questioned. 

“If you’re talking medical, it’s in the kit,” Glenn said. 

“I’m hoping for something to take the edge off,” Maggie looked warily at Rick. 

Rick, for his part, wasn’t much help. His head was swimming, the world going fuzzy at the edges. His mouth fell open as he tried to speak, but only managed an unintelligible groan. 

“Whoa there cowboy,” Glenn caught his eye in the rearview mirror. “Don’t go doing anything more stupid than whatever just happened.” He cast a worried look at Maggie. 

“He’s going to pass out,” Maggie observed, lifting his shirt. Rick yelped in pain, but she kept at her labor, peeling the soaked fabric away from his skin. “The good news is there’s an exit wound,” she announced. “Looks like it clipped your side.”

“You can fix it?” Glenn asked, still speeding in the dark. 

“I think my stitches will be good enough to make sure he doesn’t bleed out in the backseat,” Maggie swallowed. “Daddy would be better at this.”

“He’s meeting us there,” Glenn reminded her. “But you gotta do this now, ok?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, offering Rick a bracing smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “Sorry about this,” she apologized, uncapping a bottle of rubbing alcohol. 

The burn was searing, bringing Rick screaming back into sharp consciousness. He began to sweat, kicking his boots out at the back of the front passenger seat to stop himself from shirking away from the young woman. 

Maggie dipped the needle, quickly threading it. The first stab was like fire, but the next few were dulled as the world began to spin. Rick felt his muscles going slack. 

“Rick,” Glenn called to him again. “Stay with me, buddy. Think of Michonne.”

Her name piqued Rick’s interest, but he still couldn’t speak. He turned bloodshot eyes on Maggie, watching the rise and fall of her needle as she neatly tied off the thread. 

“His leg’s hurt too,” Glenn piped up. 

Maggie nodded, turning to his pants. The scissors came out again, cutting through the reddened denim until she could see the gash. 

“This one’s infected,” she announced, reaching for the alcohol. “He’s going to need medicine. I don’t think I should sew this up.”

“Michonne,” Rick managed to grit out, looking towards Glenn. “Did you call…”

“Shit,” Glenn nodded. He punched at the phone with a trembling hand. The ringing was loud in the car as the darkness pressed around them. 

“Hello?” Her voice was breathless. “Rick, where are you?”

“Hey, look, Michonne,” Glenn’s piped up, “there’s been a problem.”

“What problem?” Michonne asked sharply. 

“Rick got attacked. We had to stop for gas and someone...I don’t know. He got away but he got shot--”

“He what?” her question went off like gunfire. Both Maggie and Glenn winced. 

Maggie spoke up, shouting from the back. “Miss...Michonne?” she began. “My daddy’s a vet, and I know enough to stitch him up, but he’s going to need medicine. Antibiotics for sure.”

“Ok,” Michonne’s voice was oddly calm. “Ok,” she repeated. “Where are you? Are you being followed?”

“We got away,” Glenn reported. “But I don’t know if they had a car, or…” he took a breath. “We’re still a few hours out.”

“Don’t stop the car, Glenn,” Michonne instructed. “Keep driving. Send me your location. Keep it on as long as you can. I’ll come meet you.”

“Michonne,” Rick found the strength to speak, struggling to sit up. “It’s not safe--”

“I know,” Michonne laughed incredulously. “Rick, you were shot!” Her voice warbled. “I’m coming to get you.”

“Michonne,” Rick tried again. Maggie stilled him, pushing him back with a firm but gentle hand.

“I’m sending you the location,” Glenn complied. “Are you coming alone?”

“I don’t know,” Michonne sounded like she was already in motion. “But I’m coming.”

“Michonne…” Rick mumbled, shaking his head. “I’m fine--”

“Is he fine?” Michonne asked. 

“No,” Glenn and Maggie responded in unison. 

“Then I’ll be there. We’ll meet in the middle.”

“Ok,” Glenn nodded. “I’m driving as fast as I can, all right?”

“Good,” Michonne said. “Thank you Glenn. And thank you--”

“Maggie,” the young woman piped up. “I’ll take care of him, ok?”

“Ok,” Michonne sighed. “Rick, please listen to them. I love you, all right?”

But Rick could not answer. The pain proved to be too much at last. He slumped into the seat, prone, breathing shallow. Maggie looked curiously at him as Glenn disconnected. 

“Big Kats,” she read the label, coaxing the chocolate bars out of his hand. 

Glenn only shrugged. “Keep your head down, ok babe?” he asked, staring worriedly off into the dark. 

“Do you really think she’s coming?” Maggie asked, pulling her gun back into her lap. 

“Yeah,” Glenn nodded, looking at Rick’s prone form. “I don’t think anything’s going to stop either of them.”

  
  



	6. Reunion

“Michonne, whoa, whoa,” Jesus dogged her steps, struggling to keep up. “Slow down for just a minute.”

Michonne did not break stride, heading from the truck to her own car, her sword bouncing at her back. She’d left Sasha and Andrea asking questions in the cab, her mind already made up. 

“Where’s the nearest pharmacy?” Michonne asked over her shoulder. 

“Hold on,” Jesus entreated, holding up his hands. “Stop for a minute and tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t have a minute,” she said, frustrated. She fished the keys out of her pocket. Her heart was thumping like she’d run a marathon, the first sticky tendrils of panic beginning to creep up on her. She drew in a ragged breath, attempting to get ahold of herself. 

“Right,” Jesus said knowingly. “Rick’s in trouble? You’re not going to be much help if you get killed before you can get to him.”

The statement was tantamount to a bucket of ice cold water, plunging Michonne into a pool of fear. She paused, trembling. Jesus caught her, his warm hand clasping her shoulder as he closed in. 

“Let us help, Michonne,” he offered. “We’re a team, right?”

She inhaled, realizing that Andrea, Sasha, Tyreese, and Aaron were all within mere feet of her. Concern was etched on each of their faces. 

“Rick got shot,” Sasha said, gun in her hands. “He’s on his way still?”

“He has two people with him,” Michonne relayed, throat tight. “Two college age kids. They said--” she huffed, ordering her thoughts. “He’s got a fever, something about an infection.”

“Medicine,” Aaron piped up knowingly. “He’s going to need it. Wouldn’t be bad to have a store of it onhand here. Whenever we’re in the field, that’s the hot commodity.”

“Where do we get it?” Andrea asked, chin up. 

“There’s a pharmacy,” Jesus said, turning to them. “We should go in pairs at least.”

“I know what to look for,” Aaron said immediately. “I’ll go.”

“I’ll come,” Andrea said. 

“Ok,” Jesus nodded, a slight smile. “You take an hour or two, you get back here. Michonne and I are going to go get Rick. Sasha--”

“We’ll hold down the fort,” she said at once. “Tyreese, you good with a gun?”

“Got it,” Tyreese nodded serenely. “Figured that building in the middle there makes a good watchtower. Was going to talk to you about making it an armory.”

“That’s a good idea,” Michonne wiped at her face, overcome. 

“All right,” Jesus nodded, pleased. “We all have our jobs. Michonne and I have our phones. We check in on the top and bottom of the hour. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Tyreese smiled outright. “Be safe out there.”

“You ready?” Jesus asked Michonne, squeezing her shoulder. 

“Yeah,” she retrieved her keys, exhaling slowly. 

“Then let’s go,” Jesus told her, climbing into the car and hopping in. 

Michonne started the engine, waving as their crew dispersed. Jesus settled into the passenger seat, glancing at her curiously. 

“You going to be ok?” He watched her fiddle with her phone. 

“Yeah,” Michonne sat her sword beside her, glancing at the screen and Rick’s blinking location. “In a few hours, I will be.”

-l-l-l-l-

“Shit,” Maggie cursed from behind the wheel. Outside of the windows, the roads were pitch black, every divot in the street and crack of a branch drawing the attention of the trio inside. “This is it guys.”

Glenn nodded, already crawling into the front seat, arms loaded. “How much further can we make it?”

“A mile,” she reported, glancing nervously at the dashboard. “Tops.”

“Ok,” Rick straightened up in the backseat, wincing. “We need a place we can defend.” He pressed his face to the windows, squinting into the darkness.

“There’s a rest stop,” Glenn glanced up from his phone. “Half a mile.”

Rick looked over at him. “It’ll have to work.”

“We’re going to fight for our lives at a truck stop?” Maggie asked, navigating towards it. 

“We need to make sure we don’t get pinned in, but can see them coming,” Rick instructed. He fiddled with the shotgun in his lap, reloading it with steady hands. Tylenol had gone a way in taking the edge off, but the fever still gave his skin a flushed glow.

“Rick, are you sure you can do this?” Glenn asked, glancing nervously at him. 

“Don’t have a choice,” Rick clipped out, loading his Colt. 

“Do we even know we’re being followed?” Maggie asked, looking nervously into the rearview mirror.

Rick didn’t bother to look back. “They’re coming.” They’d kept their distance, but there was no disguising the rumble of motorcycle engines. “Glenn, can I see your phone?”

Glenn nodded, handing it over. Rick hit the button for Michonne’s phone. 

“Hey darling,” he said the moment she answered. “It’s time.”

“Ok,” Michonne was stoic, no trace of panic in her voice. Rick felt a spike of pride. “I’m 15 miles out, still got gas. I’ll be there, ok?”

“I know you will,” he grinned, wishing he could see her. “We got ammo. I’ll try and be done with this by the time you get here.”

“Don’t get shot again,” she cautioned. 

“Love you,” Rick told her, swallowing thickly. “You stay safe. No matter what. Promise?”

“I’m coming to get you, Rick,” Michonne answered, voice hardened. 

“Michonne, if I--”

“I’ll see you soon,” she assured him. “I love you. 

She hung up, leaving the phone hot in his palm. Rick handed it back, looking at the young couple in the car with him. They rolled to a stop, coasting into the truck stop. 

“Now what?” Maggie asked, fingers tight along the steering wheel. 

Rick handed her the shotgun. “Michonne is coming. We shoot anyone coming for us.”

“Kill people?” Glenn asked, eyes wide. 

“You could let them shoot you, if you want,” Rick suggested. “Wouldn’t recommend it.” He grit his teeth against the pain as he began to move, reaching for the duffle bag. 

“Can’t we just run for it?” Maggie asked. “Hide until Michonne comes?”

“We’d lose all the equipment, best case.” Glenn shook his head. “And they could still follow us.”

“Exactly,” Rick reached for the keys of the car as Maggie killed the ignition. “You do what you think is right,” Rick told his young companions. “But this world ain’t a place for hesitation anymore. Run or fight. You gotta decide now. Michonne and I can come get you when we’re done, if you stay close enough.”

The couple exchanged a long glance. Glenn spoke first. “We’ve come this far, cowboy,” he cocked his weapon, hand on the door. “Let’s finish it.”

Maggie nodded, pale in the face but resolved. “Ok,” she said simply, lifting the gun. “Ok.”

“Spread out,” Rick instructed, climbing carefully out of the car. “You two watch each other’s backs.” He spotted a dumpster along the back of the public restrooms. “Think you can get on the roof?” Rick asked. 

Glenn was already in motion, giving Maggie a boost. The girl scrambled up. “Rick, you next,” Glenn instructed, reaching for him. 

Rick’s eyes were off down the street, his ears attuned to the crunch of tires on asphalt. “Go,” he told Glenn, stepping forward, gun leveled. 

“Rick, come on--” Glenn’s argument got drowned out in the sudden din of half a dozen motorcycles revving up. 

Rick shoved him. “Get up there,” he instructed roughly. He handed the bag of weapons over, pausing to dump ammunition into his pockets. “Cover me.”

With a nod, Glenn disappeared, following Maggie to the roof. Rick crouched behind the car, Colt at the ready, swallowing down the burning pain in his leg and side. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” someone hollered, drawing raucous laughter from the rest of his group. “Don’t fight and we might take it easy on you.”

Rick bristled, listening carefully, crouching lower. In the dark, he could just make out the tires of the bikes as they came ever closer. Taking careful aim, he waited until he could see the faint reflection of a gas tank before pulling the trigger. There was a satisfying crack, and the smell of gasoline immediately permeated the air. Better still, the bike went skidding, crashing and spiraling into the rest of the rider’s cohorts. 

Rick stood at once, preparing to fire. Glenn and Maggie beat him to it. A barrage of bullets rained down into the darkness, the sparks pinging off the streets as they sprayed downward. From the group came a hail of screams, tires squealing, men shouting. Someone began to return fire, peppering the side of the SUV. Rick ducked again, taking cover. 

One of the bikes broke free, speeding over the curb and directly for the car. Rick moved as quickly as he was able, relying on the darkness to hide him. The rider flipped on his lights, illuminating the scene. 

“Fuck,” Rick cursed, limping back towards the shadows. He raised his Colt, aiming for the headlight. The biker swerved, the bullet bouncing harmlessly into the street. 

Another bike joined the fray, firing off in Rick’s direction. Rick circled around the car, ignoring the drip of warmth crawling down his side as Maggie’s stitches tore free. It was the least of Rick’s worries.

“Rick!” Glenn’s voice came from somewhere up above. “We got geeks coming in!”

Rick grunted an acknowledgment, dizzily struggling to stay on his feet. The headlight found him again, blinding him. 

“There he is, Joe!” a gruff voice shouted, excited now. 

Rick fired again, ducking sideways, stumbling as he went. In the darkness, he could make out the sight of the dead. From the roof, Glenn and Maggie began to aim for the new threat. Rick slumped against the wall, trying to get his bearings. 

The first punch leveled him, knocking his feet out from under him. He pulled the trigger, getting off a wild shot before the gun was pried from his hands. A knee to the side had Rick seeing stars. He grunted, biting down hard enough that his mouth filled with blood. 

“All that trouble, and you’re still gonna die behind a dumpster,” his attacker laughed, digging his hands harder into the bullet wound. 

Rick cried out, swinging. His knuckles burned when he connected with the face of his grizzled opponent. The satisfaction was short lived when he headbutted Rick, driving him to the ground. 

“Gonna make you watch while we kill those two of yours up there,” he smirked, face bloody in the low light. “Then we’ll leave you for the roamers, just like you left our man.”

Someone was screaming Rick’s name, but it was fuzzy in his ears. All he could hear was the beating of his own heart, the rhythm slowing down beat by beat. He flailed but it didn’t do much. 

“That’s it,” the man grinned. “Give it up.”

Rick grappled, digging his fingers into the rough hands around his throat, fighting to his last breath. The world began to spin, his vision darkening. He shut his eyes, not wanting the last thing he saw to be the man choking the life out of him. Michonne’s face filled his mind. For a moment, he swore he could hear her voice. 

A scream brought him crashing back into the present. Rick opened his eyes again, staring in shock at the blade of sharpened metal now sticking straight through the chest of his attacker. The hands loosened and Rick kicked free, watching as blood bubbled from the man’s lips. With a grunt, the sword pulled backwards and the man fell unceremoniously to the street.

“Rick,” Michonne reached for him, her sword hanging loosely as she drew him up. 

“Michonne,” Rick’s heart clenched. 

She smiled at him. “Can’t stay out of trouble, can you?” she scolded, pulling him up. Her quick eyes found the bloodstain on his shirt, her smile faltering. “Jesus!” she called, looking wildly over her shoulder. 

“I’m here.” A man appeared, panting, a gun in his hand. Rick squinted at him, wondering if he’d just lost a lot of blood, or if Michonne’s friend really did look like church paintings of Jesus. 

“He’s bleeding out,” Michonne said urgently. “We need to leave, now.”

“Get down here!” Jesus yelled up. “We need to go.”

“The supplies,” Rick mumbled, trying to get his feet beneath him as Michonne pulled him up. 

“Relax, Rick,” Jesus instructed, coming to help Michonne. “We got this.”

The world became a blur of struggling to stay conscious. Rick was boneless against the backseat of Michonne’s car, doing his best to steady his breathing. 

“I’m here,” Michonne’s voice was at his ear, her lips pressing gentle kisses into his flushed skin. “Stay with me,” she instructed, reaching for his hand. 

Rick clasped his fingers around hers, holding tightly. “Michonne,” he mumbled, wishing he could sit up and hold her. 

“I’m here, Rick,” she promised, cupping his face in her hands. 

-l-l-l-l-

“Be careful,” Michonne cautioned, watching as Jesus and Glenn maneuvered Rick out of her car as quickly as they could. 

Rick blinked hazily at her, his pale blue eyes bloodshot. She offered him a smile, holding his hand as they ran. 

“Michonne!” Andrea’s voice caught her attention. She appeared at Michonne’s side, flanked by Aaron. “We grabbed whatever we could at the pharmacy. There wasn’t a lot left but I think we got enough.”

Michonne thanked her, blinking back tears. “I don’t know what he needs,” she admitted.

The young woman, Maggie, piped up. “He needs his wounds dressed and cleaned. I’ll stitch him up again, but we need to bring the fever down. Do you have Amoxicillin?”

“Yeah,” Aaron nodded. “I can help. I can do stitches well enough. Learned in the field.”

“Ok,” Maggie looked grateful. “Is there a tub?”

It was like a game of musical chairs, the whole of the group running in and out, assisting. Tyreese managed to get Rick in the house and up the stairs on his own, depositing him in the bathtub. Maggie kicked them all out besides Michonne, offering her an apologetic smile before tugging Rick free of his soiled clothing. The look of his wounds threatened to send her vomiting, but Michonne stilled her trembling stomach, kneeling to help. 

Maggie fished out the torn stitches with nimble fingers, instructing Michonne to hold Rick still as she poured alcohol on the gunshot and his leg in turn. The sound of Rick’s pained cries was enough to bring tears, but Michonne obeyed, mumbling soothing nonsense words to him.

Aaron joined, sewing up the gash in Rick’s side while Maggie poked and prodded at Rick’s leg. 

“Hershel will be here in the morning,” Glenn peeked into the door to deliver the news. “He and Beth are just a few hours away.”

“Ok,” Maggie looked up. “What did he say?”

“Clean it as best you can, then dry and dress it,” Glenn reported. “He needs the medicine. Is there any antibacterial cream?”

“Got it,” Aaron held up a tube. “Michonne,” he gently nudged her to the side.

Michonne stepped back, heart pounding, looking down at Rick. He’d gone quite pale, his eyes fluttering open and shut, dancing wildly around until they found her, then closing again. She took a shaky breath.

“Hey,” Glenn’s hand closed in on her shoulder, his handsome young face offering her a smile. “That’s a tough boyfriend you’ve got there,” he reassured her. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Michonne smoothed her hand over his, nodding. “I know,” she said, squeezing. 

Dawn came quickly, the sky lightening at the horizon before the new occupants of Alexandria began to retire. 

“Are you going to be ok?” Andrea paused in the doorway, looking at Michonne.

Michonne glanced up, setting her sword down against the wall. There was blood all over the front of her shirt, not from walkers, but a human being whose life she had snuffed out. She didn’t regret it.

“I’ll be ok,” Michonne sighed. 

“You should clean up,” Andrea suggested. “The rest of us are next door, if you need us. Sasha and Maggie are taking first watch.”

Michonne nodded. “Andrea,” she began. “I owe you.” The antibiotics might save Rick’s life.

Andrea only shrugged. “Hey, he saved you, you saved me. I’m thinking that’s how the world is now.” 

Michonne let out a wry chuckle. “I think you’re right.”

“Could be worse,” Andrea mused. “Holler if you need us.” With a wink, she left, shutting the front door behind her. 

Michonne peeled her soiled clothing off, adding it to the bloody pile in the tub Rick had vacated. She filled it with water, watching it run cloudy, taking in the splatter along the tiled wall. With a sigh, she left it as it was, retreating for the master bathroom. She showered quickly, the water so hot she could barely stand it. 

Rick was in bed where she left him when she emerged, passed out among the blankets. Michonne took a moment to watch him. Back in Atlanta, she’d often fantasized about a similar scenario-- a big house, a future before her, and Rick. A profound sense of gratitude filled her, drawing tears yet again. 

She crawled in beside him, dropping the towel in favor of feeling his skin against hers. He was still warm, but the fever seemed to be creeping out of him. Carefully, Michonne maneuvered around his injuries, laying her head on the pillow next to his. She ran a hand over his stubbled cheeks before letting it settle in the unruly curls of his hair. 

“Hey darling,” Rick exhaled, turning his face to hers. 

The dam broke at once, heavy droplets coursing down her face. “Hey old man,” she answered, leaning down to kiss him.

He reached for her, holding her face to his, sharing the air between them. “I missed you,” he told her, smiling. He wiped the tear tracks away, tracing a thumb down her skin. 

“You’re here,” she reminded him, smiling to match his. “You’re with me.”

“Should have come a month ago,” he mumbled. 

“Sh,” Michonne hushed him, kissing him gently. “Sleep now, ok?”

Rick nodded, already dozing off. His hand fell from her face and down her body, settling over the curve of her ass in a familiar motion. Michonne laid next to him, pressing her face into his shoulder until she too drifted off, her hand atop Rick’s still beating heart. 


	7. Epilogue- A Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Michonne find the time to heal together

A summer thunderstorm brought an abrupt end to the workday, the streaks of lightning cutting through the sky. Heavy raindrops began to pelt down, chasing the citizens of Alexandria from the fields and across the brick sidewalks indoors. 

Michonne darted around the increasingly wet landscape, laughing and attempting to shield her head from the sudden deluge. Rick’s hand found the small of her back, urging her forward. 

“I think work’s done for the day,” he observed as they crowded beneath the overhang above their front door, staring out into the haze. 

“I think you’re right,” Michonne huddled closer to him. It wasn’t safe to build in a storm like this. Her mind began to tumble, calculating how long the weather might last, how far behind it would set them. The fields had been tilled and were ready for more planting, though the flooding might interrupt that. The wall was another problem entirely. 

Michonne glanced out towards it, spying Tyreese and Jesus frantically gathering the tools. Aaron sprinted out to join them, chuckling delightedly along with the pair. Up in the tower, Glenn and Maggie ought to be safe, and with Sasha there as well it was a good bet that they were actually on lookout. From across the road, Andrea helped Beth and Hershel rush for their homes, pausing to wave.

“They’ve earned a break,” Rick read her mind. He leaned in, pressing his lips to her ear. “Don’t you think?” 

She shivered, less from the weather than the wandering hand slinking down her back. “Rick,” she cautioned him, attempting to keep the gasp out of her voice. 

“Let’s go inside,” he suggested, wearing a smirk that she immediately recognized. Heat bolted through her limbs, settling with a dull ache. 

She turned, scrambling for the handle, losing the battle to stay objective. The minute she spun, Rick crowded her against the door, wrapping an arm around her waist. 

“Rick,” Michonne sought to chastise him, even as she arched back in towards him, holding in a moan. “Hershel said--”

He silenced her with a kiss, crushing his mouth to hers, audience be damned. “Michonne,” he told her, his voice raspy and authoritative. “Open this door, darling.”

She obeyed as quickly as she was able, stumbling past the threshold. Rick kicked it shut behind them, shutting the world out. 

For a month this house had been full, a carousel of new faces, problems that needed solving, plans that needed fine tuning, checkups and inventory and visits. Rick went from bedridden to carefully monitored under the critical eye of Maggie’s father, Hershel. He was back on his feet within a week, sneaking around, avoiding Hershel in lieu of helping Michonne secure the house. It was a special kind of pleasure to build a new world, especially with Rick beside her. Every day felt like a gift. Still, uncertainty was around every corner. 

“Baby,” Michonne gasped, eyes falling to the sopping material of Rick’s shirt, now clinging to him like a second skin. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

He caged her between his arms again, backing her into the wall. Michonne began to shake, every nerve ending in her body firing at once. Rick gathered the fabric of her tank top in one rough fist, drawing it upward until his fingers danced lightly across her stomach. 

“I’m not waiting any longer,” he told her, closing the distance between them. 

Michonne gave in, desperate now, holding him close to her as he stole her breath. It was easy to tug him down the hall and into the living room, stumbling along as though an inch of space was too much. They collapsed on the couch they shared. Rick peeled her pants from her legs, pausing only to drag his hands across her damp skin. The rest of their clothing landed in a wet slap, dripping onto the tile below, quite forgotten by their owners. 

Michonne corded her fingers into the short hair of Rick’s beard, hesitating just for a moment to look at him. A month in the sun had colored his skin, lengthened his hair, dusted his jaw in salt and pepper curls. She traced a finger down the slope of his nose, over his lips, around his cheeks and down his shoulders. She paused at the scar on his side, watching for any sign of pain, any inkling that he hadn’t healed. 

What she saw was a knowing smirk. “Satisfied?” he asked, catching her hand in his own. He drew it up, kissing the palm before yanking her forward into him. 

Michonne moaned at the heat caught between them, grinding down against it, desperate now. “Not yet,” she teased, watching with delight as his eyes darkened. 

He pulled her down, wrapping an arm around her hips, guiding her as he pressed against her. Michonne fell forward, trembling, attempting desperately to reposition herself, to get Rick exactly where she wanted him. 

“Baby,” she would have been mortified any other time by the whining tone he forced from her mouth, but couldn’t find it in herself to care. “Please.”

Rick chuckled, kissing her again. “Going to go slow, darling,” he promised, trailing his hand downward to cup her ass. “Show you how much I missed you.”

Any retort she might have had died as Rick lifted her, flipping them around to push her into the cushions. He caught her hands in one broad palm, drawing them above her head, leaving her open to his attention. 

Outside the wind howled, disguising her plaintive cries and Rick’s grunts and groans as his mouth and tongue did their work, driving her mindless. Michonne had a sudden memory of what seemed like a lifetime ago, of their rushed tryst on Rick’s old couch, of the pain at the thought that it might be the last time. 

It fled at once when he drew her legs up, easing into her so slowly that she began to cry. 

“I got you, darling,” he released her hands, reaching around to hold her instead. 

Michonne looped her arms around his neck, craning up to kiss him, dragging him against her until he was all she could feel. “I know,” she told him, crying out when he pulled back before thrusting forward again. 

Rick smiled, leaning up to get more leverage. His grin turned wicked when she deftly raised a leg to hook it over his shoulder. “I missed this,” he admitted, looking down at her reverently. 

“Me too,” she gasped, tossing her head back, finally allowing herself to be consumed with only pleasure. 

-l-l-l-l-

Night fell before they made it up the stairs to the bedroom on shaking legs, pausing only to hang their clothes on the side of the tub and clean up. Rick watched as Michonne walked to their bed, still gloriously naked and obviously exhausted. Rain lashed against the side of the house, rattling the windows, but he scarcely noticed. 

“Jesus and Glenn have been talking about going out, finding people. Aaron thinks it’s a good idea,” Michonne said, drawing the covers back. She looked up expectantly at him, ready for another of their discussions. 

For the last few weeks he’d listened, captivated as Michonne outlined her ideas for a future, all too happy to assist wherever possible. He’d seen her excel before, in the courtroom and outside it, but there was something about this, about watching her shape this new world that did something to him. 

Rick paused, staring. “It’s not a bad idea,” he said simply, smiling at her.

“What?” she asked, all nervousness. Rick chuckled. 

“Nothing,” he told her, moving forward to join her. “Just feeling...lucky.”

“Really?” Michonne asked, raising a brow.

Outside the walls of Alexandria, the dead still wandered with no sign of an end. There were still bandits and worse, threats that would assuredly come knocking. Inside there was only hard work to be found, building and farming and healing and learning to live in this new world. Here in this bedroom though, there was only he and Michonne. 

“Yeah,” Rick smiled, pulling the covers further back so Michonne could climb in. “Really.”

She smiled at that, curling against him the moment he joined her, using him as her pillow, the way she did most nights. He laid back into the mattress, content to be feeling not pain but the soft texture of her hair tickling his side. He reached for a loc, rolling it between his thumb and fingers, watching as Michonne began to fall asleep. 

“You think we’re going to be alright?” she whispered, blinking at him in the dark. 

Lightning crashed and thunder rumbled, but Rick only drew closer to Michonne. 

“Yeah, darling,” he assured her, kissing her forehead. “We’re going to be just fine.”


End file.
